#the mattress yearns to know the shape of him

[inkstainedrat]

it is cold and it is dark

there is snow and the world is quiet

the empty expanse of my bed is vast

I need The Character to come fill it

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ How they hold you in bed when sleeping

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia (separate) 

When the stars are perched in the night sky, and the world becomes wrapped in a still blanket of darkness - there is no better action than departing to your safe space, the coziness of your bedroom, and the safety of your beloved’s body next to you. The lights are dimmed and after a warm shower and a change into comfy pajamas, your beloved is met with a tender sight of your sleepy figure. It is time for rest, and with his arms open, beckoning you to hop into his embrace - you join him in bed at last. 

✧ A single glance from Pierro and his eyes would instantly soften upon seeing your sleepy expression. The Director of the Fatui doesn’t require any questions or even verbal communication to know that something is troubling you. Your solemn gaze and slumped shoulders tell him more than enough - and his heart aches in response. Silently but gently, he pulls you closer, his star-shaped pupils seeking answers from your own. 

“My divine one... A long day?” - he whispers, his hand lifting your chin to make you look at him. You don’t directly respond, but nod and press your lips into a thin line. Pierro sighs, yearning to vanquish all your worries and pain. But sometimes, words are superfluous.

“Do not fret your little heart. No harm shall come, for I am here, my divine. Shall I take you to bed, instead?” 

With a small nod and a timid glance from you, Pierro spoke no further. He knew what you required on such solemn nights as these, and instead, allowed his arms to pick you up, carrying your fatigued figure in his bigger embrace. He pulled you closer, his cheek gently grazing your face as he whispered soothing words and brought you to bed. 

He tucked you in, the king-sized bed bringing the familiar sensation of silky sheets and warm covers. He kisses your forehead with careful and slow deliberation before accompanying you to sleep.    

When Pierro sleeps beside you, he is often silent, but his gaze never leaves your figure. He’d lay on his side, gazing at your face as if it were the stars and the moon itself. Even within the dimness of the room, he has memorized the outline of your face, the soothing rhythm of your breathing, the contour of your figure. With one hand around you, you two slept peacefully, the troubles of the world left behind. Even the Fatui’s Director required solace, and this solace he would locate only in your tender arms; his sanctuary. 

✧ Il Capitano has memorized your routine. Take a shower, get ready for bed, and most importantly, sleep on top of him as if his body were a sturdy mattress. It’s not your fault your cherished is so much taller and bigger, right? Well luckily for you, he absolutely adores it when you climb on top of him, resting your head on top of his chest and legs around his hips. Your smaller figure clad tight around him like a loving weighted blanket while he slept on his back. His hands would gladly squeeze you, loving your softness against his toned physique. 

“You don’t mind my weight on top of you, Cappy?” - you’d often ask every night before bed, peeking at him with that tender worry that made the Harbinger melt in an instant. Capitano would continue to hold you, his sharp fingers tracing circles gently on your hips or your back.

“Dearest, I have carried heavier weights that quadruple you in size. If you were to bother me, would I be pulling you back to my arms whenever you toss and turn?” 

And thus, with the seal of approval from the honorable Captain, you’d smile triumphantly and sleep on him. That’s just how the two of you were: Capitano was a beast in size, slept still, and barely moved when on his back. Conversely, you were smaller in size, slept very lightly, and often turned or wrestled with the covers. Even when you had the spacious bed to your leisure, you always chose to sleep tightly clinging to him. And Capitano revered every second of it as if it was the biggest honor in his duty as your protector. Truly, an honorable knight protecting your dreams. 

✧ Sharing a bed with Il Dottore is a toil. If you managed to miraculously drag him out of his lab, he’d groan and argue that he has important research to do, that your concern for his sleep schedule is ‘childish’. Yet the moment he settles in bed, he becomes a menace to your sanity: 

“Are you coming to bed or not?” 

“Come here, closer.” 

“No, you are pushing around.”

And the cherry on top of it all? He’d stare at you during the entire night, maskless. You know he doesn’t easily fall asleep, even on days when he overexhausted himself in his experiments. So naturally, his method to relax is to press the side of his head tightly against your chest and just remain glued to you with the sound of your heartbeat being his salvation. You’d assume it is an adorable sight… until you’d open your eyes in the middle of the night, only to notice a piercing, red lens just gawking at you. Motionless and still, he just wore that neutral expression while being pressed to your chest.

“...Uh, are you going to just stare at me in the dark?” - you whispered in the dark, to which he won’t even move or change his expression.

“43 beats per minute.” 

You blinked sleepily - “... wha-” 

“Your heart beats approximately 43 to 50 beats per minute when you sleep. That’s anywhere between 20640 to 24000 beats for 8 hours of sleep.” 

It was your turn to gawk at him, albeit in confusion. His nonchalant yet stoic reply told you that he was, indeed, very focused on counting each and every beat of your heart while you slept. He remained pressing his ear to the middle of your chest, arms wrapped around your waist tightly. 

“Dottore, have you not slept this entire time…?” 

“Shush, stop speaking,” - he whispered more gently, pressing his face into you in a rather touchy manner as if you wouldn’t notice. “I am still counting. Your heart rate is increasing to 81 bpm.” 

“If you won’t go to sleep this instance I won’t make any Ajilenakh Cake tomorrow.”

As such, silence dominated the dark bedroom once more. The doctor said no more and settled on hiding his face against your body, not daring to admit that he loved your desserts. And even more, not daring to acknowledge that your heartbeat lulled him to sleep. To deny his infatuation with every beat of your pulse would be a lie, and to deny his longing to physically hold you close would be ignorance. So he settled to silently counting your heartbeat until succumbing to dreamless slumber. 

✧ Scaramouche didn’t require sleep. Everyone knew that. Regardless, your persuasion with the 6th knew no bounds as you begged and nagged at him relentlessly to remain beside your bedding. He would audibly scoff and cross his arms at your ridiculous request. 

“My body does not need rest for 8-something hours. Why should I even waste such precious time with you while you’re the one unconscious?” 

However, no matter how much Scaramouche put up the cold front and rolled his eyes, he wasn’t immune to your ingratiating puppy eyes or gentle tugging whenever you asked something of him. You’d always embrace him from the side, asking him softly to stay a little longer as you depart for the night. He, of course, would refuse and cut your answers short, but his actions told a different story. He was already tucking you in; making sure the futon was neatly laid and the covers warmly wrapped around you while he sat kneeling beside you. He just had to make a fuss first:

“To even insinuate such foolish proposition… You must be truly bored out of your mind.”

You’d only chuckle in response, smiling whenever he made sure your room was tidy and secure for your nightly rest. But even then, you’d reach for his hand, and whisper: 

“... Just stay for a while longer. At least until I fall asleep, okay?” 

Same scoff. Same attitude. But The Puppeteer never left. He always stayed beside you, despite his arrogant rebuttals that you quickly learned were nothing about. He’d either sit leaning beside you, keeping a silent company, or telling you obscure stories he heard from Inazuma or the Abyss. And at times, Scaramouche would remain kneeling by your futon even after you had fallen asleep. 

Your breathing was slow and steady, but he was almost afraid to lean any closer. All bickerings he displayed before were gone, and like a porcelain puppet, Scaramouche would find himself frozen in place, hypnotized by your soothing breathing. He just gazed at you, as if you were a distant star within the dark sky, the palliative breaths emitting from you told him that you were safe. You are here. 

And it was from you he learned how gentle breaths are emitted by those deemed “alive”. How your breathing fluctuates in different moments of your life: energetic when happy, hitched when disturbed, and peaceful when asleep. Strangely, this mundane motion of your chest falling and rising worked like a lullaby to Scaramouche. 

Alas, he now condemns himself for not caressing your face all these times he watched you sleep. A lonesome Wanderer sat alone, an empty futon beside him. Your familiar presence lacking, and he won’t hear your tranquil breaths. You are not here.  

✧ Your dear Pantalone had a fundamental habit before bed. He’d set his glasses aside, hair tied up, and go through his skincare routine right before bed. His hands diligently yet delicately wash all the apprehension and professionalism from his face. But the most important part? Trash talk with you about what happened at his work, while he focused on his reflection in the mirror.

“Could you believe that dear?” - the 9th called out to you from the bathroom, his brows frowning in displeasure. The man continued to cleanse his face. “Those insolent aristocrats offered another bribe under the table, thinking that would change my final statement.” 

You responded with a faint “Mhm,” back at him. 

“And then! The tasteless bastard dared to ask that some of their reports be delayed because he will pay twice, as long as no one checks for quality control. I mean, the audacity of some of those high-society morons!” 

“Right, right” - you murmured faintly from the bedroom. 

Pantalone massaged his cheekbones, making sure his face was as affluent as his taste and status. He adjusted his robe, still rambling with the same frustrated passion. “They think that just because they’re doing business with me, negotiating with a high sum of bribes would lead to a guaranteed deal with the Fatui. Ugh.” 

This time, there was no response from you. The bedroom was awfully silent, despite the night lamp still shining. 

“Honey?” - Pantalone called gently. 

Silence. The Regrator stepped out of the bathroom, a curious look on his face, until his eyes spotted you in bed, asleep. His expression immediately softens, all quarrels and gossip forgotten. It seems that his late-night rambles about work have thrilled you so much that you, obviously, dozed off. You didn’t even turn off the lights or get under the covers yet.  

Pantalone couldn’t help but smile softly. You two had a long day, anyway. He quietly finished his preparations for bed, changed into comfortable nightwear, and stepped closer to your side. With a delicate touch, he made sure you were tucked in properly, giving you the usual good night kiss on the forehead and tucking your hair away from your face. The man dimmed the lights before he two took his rightful place in bed beside you. 

Whatever quarrels troubled his mind now - didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had your comforting presence beside him in bed. As he slowly spooned your sleeping figure, Pantalone let out a sigh of relief, letting his head rest by the crook of your nape. Only then, did the Regrator feel his body go into ease, feeling the tranquil silence settle upon the room. Thus, the two of you slept warmly; Something that Pantalone would never trade for any riches or gold. 

✧ Ah yes, Tartaglia, his sweetheart, and their 50,000 Mora five-foot tall Morax plushie. Childe remained lying on his back, his expression far from pleased. Ever since he returned from his mission in Liyue, he gifted you this massive dragon plushie. A plushie that became his mortal enemy. His tormentor. His replacer. 

The 11th frequently brought souvenirs back home in Snezhnaya. Liyuan tea sets, Inazuman dresses, or Fontainian gadgets. All for your spoiling, and the joyous smiles from his siblings. One of such missions, he returned home with several cute toys and plushies, just for you and Teucer. He is not beating the “Greatest Toy Seller” allegation anytime soon, but he was certain that the gigantic Morax would be a lovely choice for you. 

How naive he was. 

The plushie was almost your entire height, yet you held onto it with utter delight when he gave it to you. You hugged and squeezed it with love, finding the fluffy geo archon the cutest thing ever. And thus, here you were. In bed, not hugging your boyfriend, but hugging the massive Morax plushie. 

It became a common occurrence. At first, Childe chuckled at your adorable antics whenever you brought his gift with you in bed. But then it became more apparent that you would rather turn your back to him, and just fall asleep while embracing the plushie. Childe swallowed his pride. It’s just a plushie, he bargained with himself. But then he would stare daggers that that innocent, fluffy-looking Morax. How dare it be the one receiving your love, while you adorably squeezed or fell asleep on it.

It should’ve been him! 

Therefore, one night, he took matters into his own hands. Tartaglia sat up silently in bed, and by mustering all his skills in stealth, he sneakily pulled the Morax plushie away from your grasp while you slept soundly. He was slow, and careful so as not to wake you up; and boy, tugging that five-foot plush was no easy task. Once it was away from your arms, Childe grinned in triumph… and threw the toy aside. The enemy has been neutralized.  

Next step - carefully pulling you closer to him. You were already in deep sleep, so of course, you didn’t feel when your beloved naturally embraced you in bed. Shh, no one will know he was jealous of a silly toy. He was just a concerned boyfriend, who needed to bury his face onto the crown of your head and relish your warmth. 

The next morning, you woke up feeling warm and pressed to your dear Ajax, who was particularly cuddly that morning. 

“Oh no, how did my Morax plushie fall to the floor?” 

“Hm? Oh, you must’ve accidentally tossed it away while you slept, dear.” 

[rinnstars]

cravings!

rin misses you, a little too much

itoshi rin x reader: lovesick rin, yandere ish, its all metaphorical tho, word dump tbh.. , not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

he must be going crazy, he thinks, lying on the rock-hard mattress provided by this lukewarm facility - a cold reminder on where he longs to be, by your side on your soft bed right by your side. and there he goes, becoming sidetracked all over again. all he can think about is you - and he knows that should be normal, considering you’ve been dating him for over a year, and that’s all normal. but even to itoshi rin, he thinks its a little more than infatuation, limerence or a crush, he thinks he’s truly gone crazy being apart from you for so long.

he misses every inch of you. he misses your eyes that seem to sparkle when it meets his, he misses your eyes when they blink at him confusedly whenever he attempts to show his affection to you, he misses your eyes that turns into crescent lines when you smile - and he can’t get enough even through the face calls he’s making all too often or through the thousands of photos he keeps in his phone in a secret folder. he misses your lips when it mesmerises him as it changes its shape as you chatter away, he misses your lips melting into his, connecting and becoming one with his, he misses just the look of your lips whether glossy, dry, sticky - and he doesn’t think any photo that he takes whether with his phone or with the help of your digicam can ever do it justice. he misses your hair that flicks on his face that usually annoys him but at this moment of weakness it makes him yearn for you even more, he misses combing through your hair as you lie on his laps doing whatever you want as he watches football matches, he misses the warmth of your hair against his neck and face as you sleep soundly beside him, resembling an angel - and yet all he can do is to stare through the blue screen to watch your social media to see if you’ve changed your hairstyle - leaving it down, tying it up, if you curled it or straightened it and whatnot. he misses your hands when it interlocks and fits right into his, he misses your hands and the way it sends electric shock down his spine as you touch him, he misses your hands that were so warm and gentle against his cold and rougher hands - and he regrets now not taking a few pictures of your hands and he has to rely on zooming in like a creep on your shared pictures.

and he thinks he truly has it bad when he dreams of you. he dreams of you at night - some days its back to school, where you’ll be with him all day long, convincing him to study that he’s truly taken advantage of because right now all he wishes to do is to go back to school and learn mathematics with you even if he doesn’t understand a single word youre trying to say, eating lunch with just you, sitting right next to you during practicals, exams, class time, and everything. some days it’ll be another weekend for you two - lying on his lap as you scroll through your phone or play games or sometimes even revising your work whilst he without fail glues his eyes on the computer or tv displaying clips of football matches, and all he wishes is that he focused on you instead. some days, its much more weird, some days he dreams of those cringe love mangas, and he swears its your influence on him - where you play the princess and he can be your prince or knight, or maybe even a role reversal if he’s real tired that day and some days he just dreams of clips of you, like he’s stuck in those edits he sees you giggle and lose your mind over and now suddenly he gets it as if youre his idol.

and right now, all he wishes to do is to crawl within your veins. all he had learnt at blue lock is simply that he can’t stand this distance between you and him, as though he is in a drought, as though this red string of fate between your fingers is instead wrapped and tugging at his heart, as though youre his water and food and air to him. he yearns to be one with you, not just by signing a piece of paper to determine you two as forever, he wants to be one soul with you, he wants to be the one you match your ribs with, he wants to be yours completely the ways you are his entirely. he wants you to eat him, the way he wants to eat you - having each other inside of one another is romantic albeit sick and twisted in others head, be one with you truly, be mixed with every part of you. he’s never thought so much about something other than his crushed dreams of football, and even that pales to this addiction of you. youre like his drug, and he feels as though he’s going through withdrawal symptoms - he’s getting even more moody than usual and he’s sure his roommates in this claustrophobic space can tell by his glare, his even more snappy and irritated tone, the ways he’s getting more fidgety as though he’s a kid going through a sugar rush that is you, his head is rushing with thoughts of you that is simply unlike him, and his chest is pumping now even faster as he thinks about you.

at this point, just for a moment, he doesn’t even want to be itoshi rin anymore. he wants to be the necklace youre wearing, making contact with your skin as you walk, looking around at the scenery with you, sharing your point of view. he wants to be the homework youre probably stressing over, having all your attention and your hands on him, and maybe even your tears he suspects since its exam season. he wants to the fan in your room, cooling you off and helping you stay comfortable and relaxed, being rewarded for his relentless spinning by the grace of your smile that he’s sure will send him to heaven. he wants to your hands, aiding you in your everyday life, and getting his reward through being able to touch your skin that he’s sure is sculptured by whatever god rules this world. he wants to be your blood, deep inside you and keeping you alive, getting to see you from the inside, and exciting and forbidden view he thinks. he wants to be a virus cell, exploring your insides and truly being one with you, infecting you with his lovesickness probably, as he in a way becomes one with you. he wants to be the walls in your heart, and be kept deep inside your heart like a secret, like he’s truly yours, like he’s one with you.

and he knows he can never say all these weird thoughts out loud - not because of his pride, not because of his inability to truly express his extent of his love, not because he thinks its cringe but simply because he knows you just might leave him and he’d rather die, rather give up football, rather go to hell for the rest of eternity than to be separated any longer. he would do anything just so you keep him a little longer - he’’ll play a fool, he’ll play as a pet, he’ll play as your doll, and he’ll do anything you ask of him just so you’ll stay even if you don’t love him. but he knows you does, so what can he do to keep being in your, his angel, good graces to go to paradise, as in to stay with you forever. he cannot even bear the thought of separating from you relationship-wise - he thinks the world will end if you ever broke up with him, maybe he’ll truly die whether by his own hands, those pill bottles, or simply just from the distance you’ve put between you and him, because youre his blood, youre his heart, youre his brain. he rather live through being abandoned by his own brother, witnessing his own metaphorical death and corpse rotting on that grassy field than to ever be separated from you, rather go through the fiery pits of hell, rather be tortured for an eternity than to be reared apart from your embrace in this mortal life. because if he can’t even handle this one mere week without your physical presence, even with your voice mails you’ve sent to keep him alive and the face calls you make every night, he thinks he’ll become a mad man, hell, he doesn’t even think he’d be alive if you ever left him truly.

but for now, he’ll let his strange mind wander and yearn for you a little more, he just hopes you wont think you’ve gotten a cold from the amount of times you’ll be sneezing today from the constant and never-ending thoughts about you.

[theorist-fox]

Takes practice

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposting from AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2

In my feel-good romance era. Usually more of a slap me pull my hair touch me there, there, there - no more talking. But not today. No SIR.

The bit regarding the satellite phones and telemarketers was inspired by the first chapters of Shadowed by Tarajanee. Absolutely adore that work and I thought those scenes at the beginning were lovely!

Word count: 13k

Summary: Simon is deployed for the first time since the beginning of your relationship. Instead of finding purpose in keeping the world clean, he finds it in keeping himself alive, because he's never been this eager to come home.

18+

CW: smut!!! dry humping, mutual masturbation, thigh fucking, P in V. Fluff, this is very fluffy. Soft Simon Riley, Simon is absolutely fucking whipped. Self-deprecating thoughts, intrusive thoughts, angst if you squint so don't squint and you'll only get yearning and love making.

Masterlist 🦊 | Series Masterlist 🦊

Simon doesn’t remember your eyes.

He’s been clawing at his face, both literally and metaphorically, because each time he closes his eyelids to succumb to exhaustion, he sees your face.

And you’re pretty. So much. He envisions the curve of your smile and how your lips part to give way to your teeth. The lines at the corners that scrunch your nose and how it flushes when it’s too cold out. He has memorized the shape of your brows for every expression. Knows the line of your cheekbones and how they swell under your eyes when you smile.

Your face is lovely, even when he conjures it in his head. But when your form breaks through the mist, he gets startled every time. Because he can’t see your eyes.

It's like a mock picture of you. A mimicry gone bad. You’re there, fresh and real, whispering sweet words to him, tossing a quip, or moaning breathlessly as he remembers the way he’s fucked you, but your eyes are carved out. Blank spots instead of the windows to your soul, like everyone always seems to chatter about.

Sure, he remembers the shape of your eyes, and if he takes deep breaths, cancels out Johnny’s blabber blaring from his cot, and enters a deep meditative state, he might be able to draw their outline.

But it’s the shade he misses. Are they sapphire, dark, and cryptic? Or frostbite blues. Emerald, maybe. He ponders, but he’s not sure. Brown, like his? Chocolate, with swirling hazels like golden speckles. Stormy grey. Charcoal black. Amber. Gold. Fucking crimson.

He doesn’t know.

But it's only been three months since he left.

And it’s been six months since Simon has taken you on his bed and fucked his name into you. Six months since he’s finally tasted your skin and imprinted your flavor on his tongue. 

It’s your fault, he thinks, if now everything he eats tastes bland. Nothing sweeter than the salt of you. The dichotomy is not lost on him. He’s a rational man, and figures easily that skin can't be sweet, especially not after he made you sweat by pounding you into the mattress. Yet he might have lost a marble or two after that, because now not even honey can compare.

Which is why he’s moved his things in your room. Just because it’s bigger, he told you. No other reason, really.  

Fucking liar. 

But again, you’re as saccharine as you taste. And maybe not as naïve as he thinks. Because ever since that night, six months ago, your hands often intertwine with his own when you guide him to bed – your bed. 

And that’s how he found a nightstand full of his things on the side closer to the doorway of the room. There’s the book you’ve lent him and a re-filled plastic bottle of water right next to it, one that he should probably throw away like you constantly tell him. Something about microplastics, but fuck if he knows. Because ever since that night, he’s lost a bit of his logic, a lot more of his sanity: you can speak for hours on end and he wouldn’t hear a damn thing if not for how your voice vibrates against his eardrums, sending tingles down his spine. 

Surreptitiously, his things have started to appear in your room. He doesn’t have much, a phew photos of his family are shuffled with your trinkets. Plain, white frames stuffed in between your smiles on pictures you’ve taken with friends. 

A frame of his medals, the ones you insisted he kept, nailed to the wall next to your PhD certificate. 

Tidy, onyx wardrobe polluted with pinks and greens. Breathable cotton and faux furs. Fuzzy fabrics that leave a rainbow of synthetic hairs on his clothes. He doesn’t bother to pluck them off, it’s just another piece of you he’s lucky to carry around.

His old bedroom turns into a storage room. Filled with boxes of forgotten things and broken appliances you can’t be bothered to fix. 

And he promises to tinker a little with the vacuum, so you won’t have to spend money on a new one and use your savings for your guilty pleasures. That book you saw when you went out together for groceries? Consider it yours. The cooking classes you wanted to attend at that restaurant you’re always raging about? He’s already bought you a pristine new apron. 

And maybe he’ll take you there, too. Ask for a more secluded table where he can still spot the door, so he can also uncoil the muscles of his back and use his eyes only to look at you, instead of having them dart around for dangers.

But fuck, he can’t do any of that now. 

It’s his first mission after that night, six months ago, and Simon is already feeling withdrawal symptoms. You’re worse than morphine on a dying man; you leave him aching for something he knows he can have because you're so obviously there, but he’s so stupidly far away.

And he can’t even tell you where he is. Can’t even give you some peace of mind. Can barely call you, because Johnny’s been hogging the satellite phone to talk to Lord-knows-who.

The Scot is not selfish, Simon knows he would only have to ask, and the bulky device would practically materialize in his hand. But Simon also knows that if he dared, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Because in the years spent in the task force, he’s never needed to call anyone. 

Can’t call the dead, now, can you? 

And now, popping a question like that would only raise suspicions. It would have his mates up his arse until his head would split in half.

But it’s been six months since that night. Three months since he left. 

And that pocket of time he’s managed to spend with you, uninterrupted, almost made him accustomed to civilian life. To the lack of his mask and the AC of the flat breezing against his face. The taste of homecooked meals. The constant presence of another soul (a beautiful one at that) in his same space. 

With you, he’s never parched – of anything. You feed him mind, heart and body, showering him with that innocent love you so easily dispense, allowing him to bathe in it. 

He’d listen to your never-ending chat for days. His mind has always roared with sounds, yet the more noise you make the more you silence it. Baffling, really, how he’s spent his whole life looking for quiet and found it in the loudest person on earth.

He’s always sated with your kisses, your words, your quick mind and razor-sharp wit, your moans and your mewls, and God, anything you were willing to give. Your lips, your spit, the juices he makes you drip, and the ones he makes you spray. He dreams of cupping your clit with his mouth as he ravages your cunt with two thick fingers until you’re splashing on his tongue. He’d drink you dry, if you’d let him. 

And oh, you have. 

There’s  the wonderful catch. These are not wishes; these are memories. Too real and fresh ones for them to be just another one of his daydreams.

Finally, after three months of pondering – or better, yearning – he realizes that every skin-prickling migraine his mates would induce is worth the sweet, sweet sound of your voice.

He’s disgustingly sweaty. He tugs at the lip of his collar and grimaces when he feels the cotton unstick from the dampness on his chest. 

Johnny's sitting idly, enjoying the few days of break from mayhem. Just a handful of hours allowed, really, enough to get them back on their feet – tactical planning, refill of their resources. Boring shite like that. But at least it’s a breather all right.

“Got the phone, Johnny?�� He grumbles.

And Johnny would love to act as none the wiser, but his eyes peek from behind the sketchbook he holds in his hand. The smirk that curls at his lips has Simon roll his eyes. 

He makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers, giving him a pointed look. “Johnny.”

“L.T.” He responds in kind. “Callin’ the landlord?”

Simon levels him with a deadpan look that could freeze the desert they’re stuck in. “Sergeant.”

Bastard’s too cunning for his own good.

Johnny drops the sketchbook immediately, showing the lieutenant his palms in defense. The cheeky bastard that he is doesn’t manage to conceal the absolute fascination in his eyes. He’s studying his superior as if he’s staring at another species.

And Simon doesn’t blame him. He’s like a sock that’s been turned inside out, the negative image of himself. All that gloomy energy turned blinding light, ever since he’s had a taste of what life could be with you in it.

But alas, no one wants to have the Ghost up their arse, so Johnny looks around the messy area around his cot and plucks the girthy satellite phone out of it.

Simon picks it up by pinching the tiny antenna on its side. It prompts Johnny’s smirk to broaden. 

“Haven’t done anythin’ with it.” He quips, letting it hang in the air for a second longer. “Or have I.”

Simon grunts a noise of disgust. “Spare me.”

He finds a secluded spot in the area they're occupying. There's nothing around them but the rubble of a city that has been torn by war and time. The sight is dour, and the silence echoes a dark past he hasn’t witnessed. Even so, the remains of the buildings are tall enough to offer their lot some cover. 

He slides with his back against a wall, knees spread wide. 

He knows your number by heart, his thumb presses each button with newfound resolve. Only when he brings the phone to his ear, does his determination falter. Because he hasn't contacted you in any way, shape, or form for three months. So, what if you’re livid, now? You’d have every right. He’d understand if you’d rip him a new one through the receiver. He just hopes you didn’t spend these days rethinking your choices. 

God, you’ve infected him with this overthinking bullshit.

“Hello?” Your voice breaks through the fog in his brain, like a hand wiping mist from glass, and his own breath threatens to choke him. He’s speechless for a moment, forgetting how to function properly.

Just your voice has sent his mind into overdrive - burnt his synapses to ashes. 

He reckons he’s completely fucked.

“Hello?” You repeat, sounding a little more annoyed. 

You grumble something about telemarketers having lost the decency to call at a reasonable hour. And when he doesn't answer again, he hears you sigh. Your voice gets all clinical, then, as if you were trained to repeat the same script over and over. “Listen, if you’re trying to sell me somethin’, my husband’s not home – he takes care of that stuff.”

He snorts.

“Your husband?”

Silence.

There’s a sort of shifting sound, he gathers you might have removed the phone from your ear and checked for the number on the screen. He can practically see your eyes squinting at the phone.

He hears you gasp, and he hints at a smile. Fucking hell, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s done that.

“Simon?” You venture.

“Hello, love.” 

You squeal, and he pulls the phone away from his ear with a grimace. But he’s tired of lying to himself – his heart is soaring. 

"Christ. Made my ears ring," he deadpans.

You chuckle, sighing afterward, as if a weight has been lifted from your chest. God, you’re a dream to listen to. If only he could also look at your face right now, just bask in the way your smile would light up the room. 

“Serves you right,” you chide him, as if that could ever be a punishment. “Could’ve called a little earlier than three months in. Was already looking for a new flatmate.”

He’s eternally thankful for the skull mask, even if it’s soddened with his sweat because if anyone were to walk by, they wouldn’t see how his face has softened. 

“Yeah?” He sniffs, “Made a new flyer and all tha’?” 

“Oh yeah,” You agree flippantly. There’s a shuffling sound that reminds him of bedsheets. “Made sure to add my boyfriend left me as a footnote.”

The corners of his lips twitch minutely. 

“Thought it was your husband who wasn’t home.” He retorts. “Got a stash of ‘em, then?”

Your chuckle is a breath of fresh air. He wants to have it imprinted in his eardrums, replacing the aggravating tinnitus. 

“Oh, y’know,” you sigh dramatically. “Bit o’ this, bit o’ that. Keeps things interesting.”

“Gotta have a chat with the lad, then.” He taunts, “Set some rules.”

“Good luck with that. He rarely listens.”

He hums fondly. It’s all he can give you, right now. 

He’s new to this, relationships have never been his forte. For the first time in his life, he’s having someone else guide him. It’s hard, he won’t deny it, having another set of hands grasp the wheel, instead of his own. But he’s letting you, however slowly. You’re understanding, and you’re allowing him to leave his foot on the brakes. You never push him, you go at his pace – even if it’s blatantly annoying, how sluggish his movements are. Yet you don’t seem to mind, and he’s eternally grateful for it.

“How…” You start. He can tell you’re unsure, whether or not you can ask these things. Whether or not he can answer them. “How are you?”

His eyes soften. 

“Good,” he reassures you. “’S hot.”

You hum. “North Africa.”

He clicks his tongue. “No.”

“Okay.” A beat. “Middle East?”

Eh.  “No.”

You gasp. 

“You’re throwing me off guard, aren’t you? You said it’s hot, but it actually isn’t.” You say cleverly, even if you’re aware it’s most likely untrue. “North America, then. Like - Canada.”

“Drop it, maybe.” He offers gently. “Making a fool o’ yourself.”

“Alaska.” 

“Love.”  He warns, but his voice is kind. “Wastin’ time.”

“Mh, the script has changed, I see.” You tease him, and he can tell you’re smiling, by the way your voice comes. “Thought you were gonna hit me with the classified.”

“Like to keep you on your toes.”

“Been on my toes for three months.”

His heart clenches a little. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want you to live on the line like that. He wonders if you’ve ever felt like this, in the four years he’s lived with you without having anything tethering each other, if not a casual friendship. Were you ever afraid when he left for his deployments? Or is this new to you, like it is for him?

“Fixed the vacuum, by the way.” You tell him lightly, as if sensing the tense air your comment has instilled. 

He silently thanks you for breaking the silence when he couldn’t. A gentle huff of relief travels through the receiver. 

“What was the problem?” He asks, even if not really fussed about the state of the thing.

“Fuck if I know.” You shrug. “Gave it a few whacks and it started working again.”

He fails to keep in a huff of laughter. “Fucking hell, ‘s tha’ what you’ve been doing, then? Hitting appliances?”

“Fixing appliances.” You correct him. “And stress baking. Lots of it.”

“Work’s botherin’ ya?” 

“S’fine.” You sigh sweetly, as though that could give him some peace of mind. “Everything’s fine over here, you don’t have to worry.”

Selfless angel, you are. He would have to be daft not to realize that you’re probably leeching your heart dry at the thought that something might happen to him. He feels like a fool for not having contacted you sooner, even when he had only a minute to spare.

His pride be damned.

“’M sorry I didn’t call earlier.” He apologizes, because the least he can do is hope you forgive him for being like a baby deer on ice about all this. 

“You called.” Your voice is soft. “’S what matters.”

He knows what you mean. He’s alive, that’s what matters. He’s faring good enough to chat with you, that’s what matters. He’s missing you as much as you’re longing for him, that’s what matters. 

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His offhand runs across his face and he has to rip his own head out of his arse before the thoughts overwhelm him. 

How can he put you through this?  He should’ve left three weeks in, four years ago; should’ve let you share your home with someone more reliable, one who didn’t have a blade oscillating above his neck.

And yet at the same time, he can't let go of you. 

You’re so good to him, you’re the drop of water in a life that’s always felt arid. You made his barren heart flourish without even trying – he didn’t think anyone could, he thought he was bound to be frozen soil, not a garden. But here you fucking are, with your tiny watering can, nourishing the earth and causing it to sprout.

He’s selfish. He is. There is no karmic balance in his reasons. The scale tips in his favor through and through, because he’s sure you’re not gaining anything from this relationship, if not a spike in anxiety and its hand around your neck.

“How long?” You ask, seemingly unable to bear the silence.

"Few weeks." He croaks and clears his throat when he notices how cracked his voice sounds. “Be back in three. Could be two, if things go to plan.”

The silence on your end is deafening. Unwittingly giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“Countdown starts, then.” You reply with that sunshine in your voice. Sunbeams through ominous clouds. “Gonna tally the days on the wall with one of your can openers.”

He snorts. “Lotta money to fix.”

“We can put ugly wallpaper over it,” you propose. “So the next person to rent the place will remove it and a whole kidnapping slash ghost story will spread around the neighborhood.”

You’re crazy, he thinks, but not unkindly. His heart squeezes in his chest.

“Fucking numpty.”

“Fucking numpty, or fucking numpty, derogative?”

He smirks. “Former.”

“Wonderful.” You say with a pinch of a smile he can’t see, sounding all smug.

However, nothing nice can last forever, not in Simon Riley’s plane of existence. He spots his captain approaching him, fiddling with the boonie hat in his grasp while his other hand lazily dries droplets of sweat on his forehead.

“Gotta go.” He mutters. Waits a bit. Shuffles through his thoughts and decides to swallow his pride, because you deserve at least that much. “Missed you. Still do.”

You're silent for a moment longer before you give him a last glimpse of your voice. The one he'll hold onto like a lifeline for the next three – hopefully two – weeks. 

“Miss you too.” You say gently. “Come home soon.”

And he’s back suddenly. 

Earlier than expected, at that – one week only. Price was all business, a few days after he caught him sneaking a phone call. Telling him things like “Need you at HQ. Work with Laswell, make sure classified intel stays classified”. And when he questioned why would he send his sniper and lieutenant to do a job an analyst should do, Price answered with a curt “Because I can trust you”.

Honestly, what could he have said to that? Even if it smelled fishy from afar, his reasoning sounded mostly reliable. Because you would send your most trusted to deal with sensitive information, right? And if Simon were a bit more daft and a bit less intuitive, he would've shrugged it off. 

But it was plain as day when his boot landed on British soil, duffel bag in hand. When his phone pinged after he turned off airplane mode, and a text popped up:

[Unknown number]: Take a few days off for the jet lag. 

That he realized the ploy his teammates had concocted. To be honest, he wasn’t as resentful as he thought he was going to be. There was lingering thankfulness – somewhere, deep below layers and layers of stoicism.

[You]: Time zones aren’t that different. 

[Unknown number]: Take a few days off to just rest, then. 

[You]: Not that tired. 

[Unknown number]: Never took you for one to question orders. 

[You]: Never took you for one to put personal life before our job. 

Simon waited patiently under the overhanging lip of the hangar. The Kevlar of his glove crinkled as his fingers curled around the hand of his duffle bag. The rain creates a gentle buzz against the metal.

It took a while for the other bubble to appear, as if the other person – most likely Price, judging by the vocabulary used in the texts – was thinking about the right thing to say.

And the right thing it was, when the words fluttered on Simon’s phone screen.

[Unknown number]: About time you put yours first, though. 

Simon, for once, agreed.

────────────

The keys slide into the keyhole with familiarity. He turns it three times, content to see you’ve locked the door all the way. When he steps in, the flat is quiet, but he isn’t expecting otherwise. It’s late at night, the hands of the clock that’s hanging above the telly mark somewhere around three in the morning, but it’s too dark to be sure. 

He's ever so gentle when he closes the door and gingerly sets the duffle bag at his feet. 

The first thought popping in his head it’s you. You’re not expecting him to be back so soon, and he has this trepidation in him that wants to command his feet to the door of your bedroom only to see how you’d react to his unexpected presence.

But he takes a moment to digest this new feeling. 

It's hard to realize that, finally, you're not dreading something. For the first time in an excruciatingly long while, Simon isn't afraid. While his brain is rigidly wired in a way that makes him refuse to acknowledge his vulnerabilities, the heart knows best.

And he is scared. He’s always been scared, ever since his mother granted him the possibility of walking this earth. Being excited to live has never been his strong suit, but he’s learning. He’s trying. 

Takes practice, to accept you’re worth your happiness.

So, as a novice learner, it’s a little jarring to realize that when his feet land on the hardwood floors of this house, there's no need for fear. He can tuck the dread away, stuff it in a pocket, and close the flap, all the while being sure no harm will come his way. Certainty that with you there’s no need for all that, for vigilance – he can unravel the knots, and simply feel what comes, because it's not going to hurt him. 

You could never.

Hooking a finger under the hem of the balaclava, he snatches it off his head and lays it on the shelf next to the doorway. It’s soaked in rain, but he’ll wash it tomorrow. And he’ll use your fabric softener, so it’ll smell like your sheets. 

The flat looks awfully dull with the lights off. The bright colors are mere shades of grey, and while he’ll never admit it out loud, he truly thinks the orange of the eastern wall brightens the room as you've told him. The thought itself baffles him – Simon Riley now knows a thing or two about home design. You’ve changed him in ways he never expected. 

However, the thing that shocks him even more than his newfound knowledge of home interior embellishments, is when the smell of baked goods bullies its way into his nose. His mouth waters in a Pavlovian response. 

Right.  

Stress baking. 

He kneels to unlace his boots, before toeing them off gently, making sure they won’t thud against the floor and disturb your sleep. Then, he practically floats to the kitchen, still unbelieving at the idea that he gets to come home and find delicacies as such ready to eat. Sometimes, in the span of life he decides to call the “Before you”, he’d snatch a few MREs from the stash in base and eat them once back in his flat. 

Easy, quick, and edible. Even if they taste like cardboard.

And now he gets to walk into a kitchen that smells like blueberries and buttercream and black tea. He gets to grab a lumpy muffin from the tray on the kitchen island and sink his teeth in its golden and blue fluff. The flavors erupt on his tongue, from the saccharine spongy cake to the sweet tang of the blueberry juice as the fruit bursts under his teeth.

He selfishly hopes your stress baking will last for a few more days.

Nevertheless, while he’d gladly eat the whole tray if it were up to him, there’s something he craves more than a full stomach. And you're currently waiting in the other room, probably tucked under the duvet because the British weather tonight is rigidly cold. 

He shrugs off his wind jacket and drapes it over the backrest of a kitchen chair. He can’t afford to take any steps backward. The coat rack is just a few paces back from the kitchen, nailed to the wall near the entrance, but he really doesn’t care. That handful of seconds is too precious to waste.

The steps he takes through the dark hallway are measured and silent; years of special forces training have taught a man his size how to be what his callsign implies.

Discreetly, he turns the knob, trying to make sure he won’t wake you with a startle because the door has barged open. However, the one caught by surprise it’s him. Because you’re not asleep, even if it’s three in the morning. 

Oh, he wants to give you a proper earful – sure, he's not your father, and if you're so keen on staying awake up until this hour on a weekday, then it's your funeral. 

Does it help school the unruly necessity of keeping you as healthy as can be? Absolutely fucking not. You’re a heathen and he hates you for it. 

But now you’re resting your back against the headboard, cross-legged on the bed. Satin blue navy camisole paired with matching shorts, big headphones on your ears, and your laptop on the mattress. You’re typing away. He’s sure you’ve pushed back an assignment from work and now you’re running out of time.

The room is dark, the only light being the screen of your computer casting your silhouette against the wall behind you. It’s silent aside from the patter of rain on the windowpane – you haven’t closed the blinds because Simon knows you love the moon flooding your room with gentle light. However, tonight the clouds are dominating the night sky, but the lampposts across the street are doing what the moon can’t, and you seem to favor that over complete darkness.

It’s clear you haven’t noticed him yet, music blaring in your ears and eyes focused on the monitor. But he’s seen you all right. And your eyes are cast downward, your lashes like annoying curtains depriving him of what he's been missing for the past three months. 

In spite of how muffled his movements have been, you seem to notice a shift in the air. Something that makes your skin prickle, a pair of eyes that shouldn’t be in the same room, nor in the same flat – not now, at least, when he should be mummified in Kevlar and breathable cotton somewhere in the desert. He's secretly proud of how easily you seem to feel fluctuations in the environment. Makes him take a breath of relief, that your reflexes aren't dull even when your senses are already busy.

You lift your head swiftly, and he helps you focus on him by flicking up the light switch. The sudden brightness makes you squint, but you blink it away and finally clock him at the door. 

And your eyes are the color of the sun, he thinks. How could he forget, that they’re the color of a bonfire when it's cold out. Of yellows, oranges, and those occasional sparkles of green when the wood is not dry, but still burns to keep him warm.

Realization paints your face with stunning colors: darkening cheeks, eyes shaped like crescent moons under the pressure of rising cheekbones. Mouth curving beautifully, and it seems to catch your teeth. The smile stretches your lips abruptly, morphing your face in spare seconds.

He sees it happen in slow motion. You rip your headphones and carelessly toss them on the bed, your laptop is skewed to the side so quickly that he instinctively reaches out a hand to prevent its fall. Thankfully, the stars are on your side tonight, and the balance tips it on the mattress, instead of the floor. 

You’re a little hurricane, scurrying off the bed and kicking off the sheets. Getting on your feet and almost slipping in the attempt to reach him in as little time as possible. A tornado of limbs envelops him in the blink of an eye. He barely has time to react that you’re already coiled around him like ivy– arms, legs, and all.

Luckily, the doorway is right behind him, and he manages to tumble back and lean against it. Your arms are vines around his neck. Your legs are roots encircling his waist. You seem to grow on him, supplying his wretched heart with the sap of life you carry – symbiotic. He feels like he can breathe again and has been doing it wrong all this time.

He helps your balance by keeping a firm hold around your waist with his arms, encapsulating you in his warmth. Lean fingers spread on your back, yearning to touch as much as he can reach.

“Easy,” he rumbles. His voice is hoarse because whatever reaction he'd imagined, all this fussing surely wasn’t it.

Your fingers thread through his hair and tug lightly at his scalp. He’s silently apologetic because it must be wet with both rain and sweat, and he's sure the smell wafting from him isn't exactly cologne-worthy. But you don't seem to care, because after you've thoroughly inspected the crook of his neck, your face comes back into view.

Your eyes are the color of joy.

“Welcome back.” You whisper, as if it’s a secret between you two. And you kiss him because surely you must want it as much as he does. A flutter of lashes brushes his cheekbone when you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Nails scrape at his scalp in the gentlest of ways. 

Simon feels your smile before he sees it. “You taste like blueberries.”

And he exhales against your lips. “Found ‘em waiting for me in the kitchen. Baked for an army, y’ have.”

You peck his lips once more, as if you couldn’t fathom a second longer without having them on yours. “Figured you’d be hungry. MRIs can’t be that tasty.”

"MREs,” he corrects. “And you’re right. They ain’t.”

Simon is not sure he’s ever received such a warm welcome, or such warmth in general. He’s not going to complain, of course, but that doesn't mean it leaves him any less rattled each time.

He gently sets you down at the edge of the mattress, standing between your legs – which you’ve pliantly spread to make room for him.

You gesture with your hand from left to right, "Potato, Po-tah-to."

"One is food, the other is medical equipment," he deadpans.

You glare up at him, as if to ask what the hell he wants now – it's three in the morning. Can’t be arsed to correct vowels at three in the morning.

“Potato.” You enunciate it better now, and it steals a lazy grin from him. “Po-tah-to.”

After having flicked your forehead at your insistence, he reverently lays his hand on your cheek and spreads his fingers into your hair.

“Alright?” You ask him.

“Mhmh,” it’s his only reply.

If only to feel you more, he guides your face to his belly. You seem to appreciate the gesture because you're already nuzzling his shirt, fisting it at his back for good measure. Simon feels your back expand and deflate under his palm when you breathe. Feels the rhythmic thump thump of your heart at his fingertips.

You’re life in its purest form. 

Face first into his abdomen, your voice is obviously muffled, but he hears it clearly anyway. "You smell like a sewer, mate."

He snorts, and lightly tugs at your hair, enough to make your head tilt back. He squints his eyes at you. “Cry ‘bout it, mate.”

Simon bends at the waist as you chuckle. Places a kiss on the crown of your head. Your eyes flutter closed and so do his. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but you two. The world muffles its noise to favor the sound of your breaths. The rain patters against the windowpane. Your laptop has gone into standby mode so now the screen is dark. The mellow light on the ceiling, a pale yellow, is like your discreet personal spotlight. 

Then, he reluctantly pulls away, and you chase him for more, pouting when he doesn’t seem to come back. But when he starts to undress, your scowl is easily replaced by a lazy grin. To increase the dramatics of the moment, you lean back on your elbows and wiggle your brows at him, “Well, well.”

You’re not subtle at all with the way your eyes follow a trail down his back, how the muscles fold when his hand reaches to the collar of his shirt and pulls it off his head. Curves and muscles and the indent of his spine. Skin freckled with scars you never ask a thing about because you're kind and you’re giving him time to open up on his own.

He’s put on some weight ever since your relationship has transitioned into something more meaningful, including feelings he still doesn’t have the guts to acknowledge. His abs are not as defined as before, they’re tucked under a layer of fat he’s not really accepting as of lately. The scar running across his stomach and its other companions only add to his self-deprecating streak.

He eyes you briefly as he unbuckles his belt, searching for what he’s sure is going to be a grimace, but he's met instead with the stupidest look he’s ever witnessed. Slow blinking at his form the more he undresses himself. Lips parted as if you’ve tried and failed to catch your jaw.

And that gives him the right to take those thoughts and shove them into the fear pocket. Sew it shut. No need to fear a thing, if you look at him that way.

You bite the tip of your tongue between your teeth. "Givin' me a show, lieutenant?"

The corner of Simon’s lips tugs upward and the sudden self-hatred sublimates under the warm adoration in your eyes.

“Cheeky little thing,” he rumbles, letting his khakis pool at his ankles. He steps out of them and shrugs them off when they catch his feet. 

One last step, and he’s already hooking a finger under the hem of your blue camisole, slowly lifting it up. There's an impish gleam in your eyes that promises trouble and he would love nothing more than to drown in whatever disaster you're planning.

He stands between your legs only in his underwear and after you’ve shut the laptop and placed it on your nightstand, your hands immediately come to rest on his stomach. Simon sighs at the touch.

“You’re a menace,” he says gently when you drum your fingers up to his chest.

Honestly, he hopes you don’t care if he smells like a cocktail of grime and sweat and rain, because, as much as he wishes for a hot shower, the sight of you melts whatever need away. 

Your eyes travel downward, taking a generous eyeful of him. However, he knows you’re not just ogling; you're searching him for wounds. 

Bandages. 

Sutures. 

Anything  that might tell you whether he's hurt or not. 

Obviously, Simon knows you want to ask. But you’re sensible when it comes to his job. In spite of the jabs about all the “Classified” he’s given you as answers, he knows you don’t hold a grudge against him. He also doesn't like to bring work at home, taking pains to leave his safe space untainted by it – instead, he lets you do the detective work yourself. 

A sweet sigh leaves your lips when you settle on the fact that he's unscathed, and you lift your arms up to help him take off your top.

"A menace?" You quip, feigning offense. "M’not the one looking naked and yummy."

“You’re about to.”

You don’t look away from his eyes when his fingers pull your top up and off. The camisole is gently removed past your head, the satin leaving your hair a little staticky. 

“A menace,” he murmurs once more, his tone softer now as he tosses the garment in a vague direction.

You wrap your arms around his waist, propping your chin on the hollow between his ribs, taking in his face as the sight that it is to your eyes. He doesn’t have the energy to question why, and just basks in the adoring attention and in the well-deserved skin-to-skin contact.

"How was it this time?" You ask gently.

His arm drapes over your shoulders, slowly stroking at your skin. A tender kiss to your hairline has you automatically sighing. You do it every time he kisses your head. He's mentally taken note of how his lips press a button of sorts that makes it all wash away, like suds under the jet of water.

“Same as always,” he murmurs, keeping his tone low and soft for your ears only. 

You hum in acknowledgment. "So?"

He smirks, a curve hidden in your hair. “Classified.”

You scoff and playfully slap his butt. He pulls back with a newfound glow in his eyes.

“Not Full Metal Jacket, if you’re wondering.” 

You hum, deciding to play along. “Spies involved?”

He snorts and tucks a rogue lock behind your ear. “Sure.”

You poke his chest as you make your definitive guess. “Three days of the condor!”

His eye twitches when, amongst the myriads of films you’ve ever watched in your life, you quote the one with the CIA involved. He has to flatten his face into something more neutral. Surely yours was a clear shot in the dark that somehow hit the right spot – even a broken clock is right, twice a day. Still, your blind guess doesn’t leave him any less distressed.

“Sorta.” He offers through gritted teeth.

And you don’t push any further, sluggishly resting your cheek on his belly.

"Were you more Robert Redford?” You mumble with half-closed eyes, "Or Faye Dunaway?”

Relief washes over him and he can’t help but huff. Plops a hand on top of your head and smooths down to the ends of your locks, rolling them between the pads of his fingers.

“Faye Dunaway, love.” He rumbles. “No question.”

You playfully tighten the hold around his waist, and with a tug, he's pulled down onto the bed. Simon knows he could easily win whichever battle if you’re the opponent, but he’ll always pretend to struggle just to humor you. He’s careful though, so he props himself on his forearms to avoid crushing you with his bulk. 

Gently, you kiss his nose but he doesn’t pull away, instead allowing the kiss to be reciprocated on your cheek. He reaches out for the switch next to the headboard and turns off the lights. 

Your eyes are the color of a summer’s night. 

They’re dark but twinkle with starlight. Pupils blown and the glowing halo of your irises around them like an eclipsed sun. The light coming from outside seems to favor you, creating shapes around your face able to turn you into a dream made reality.

“I’ll call in sick tomorrow.” You tell him, nose to nose. 

“Won't bother anyone, will it?” He asks mindfully, although he cares very little if your co-workers might get a little miffed about your last-minute call.

You shake your head softly, causing your noses to brush. “Nope, they’ll understand.”

And so, he unfolds, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. Your head is guided by a big hand to rest on his chest. He fits you perfectly into his side, making sure every piece of you adheres like glue to his skin.

“Y’need a shower?” You murmur in his skin, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers are tracing mindless patterns on his chest, skimming over hair and the odd scar here and there.

“Tomorrow,” he replies quietly. “Sleep now.”

“Alright,” you whisper. “Wake me up when you do, yeah?”

“Sure.” He says, looking down at the top of your head. He leaves a kiss in its ruffled mess.

“G’night, love.” He breathes. 

You murmur it back, and fall into your slumber.

────────────

Simon opens his eyes with his heart thundering in his chest. He doesn’t know why, and likely pegs it to mere habit. Three months stuck in hypervigilance will have your body unconsciously overreact at the most subtle of changes, even if there are none.

There’s too much light in the room for it to be night, and a single look at the window tells him the sun is just shy of rising. 

During the night, you must’ve moved around and he must have followed you, because now he has your back to his chest. An arm slung around your waist, the other tucked beneath your neck. 

He gently tugs the duvet a little higher, over your shoulder, and spends the next few minutes just looking at how peaceful you look.

Next to a killer. 

His stomach churns wildly. 

You’re home,  his heart says. You’re not a killer here. 

A shame, truly, that his brain doesn’t agree in the slightest. Two organs fighting like separate entities, and the whole brawl is happening inside of him, mercilessly tearing his flesh apart. 

But it’s already broken, isn’t it? What else is there to shred. 

Yet he’s home and you’re comfortable next to him. So how broken can he be, really?

Torn. Shredded. Lookin’ like you went through the grinder and barely came out of it alive. 

He forces his eyes shut and buries his face in your hair, nuzzling your nape. 

Pretty thing, she is. Who the fuck d’you think you are, mh? 

A sharp inhale. Breathing you in. You smell sweet enough for the sounds in his head to buzz out. Not silent yet, but quiet enough for him to have a breather.

You don’t know how long it takes for his body to expel the exorbitant amount of adrenaline produced in three months of deployment. How his back cracks when it hits the comfortable mattress of yours and his bedroom, after having spent way too much time packed like a sardine on sordid cots or much-too-small sleeping bags.

How he fucking hates it, when you feel so soft and untouched, while he has more scars than bloody years on his back. 

Not right. Ain’t fucking right to you. 

His hand snakes from your waist to follow the curve of your arm. He follows the bulge it makes under the comforter. The rain has turned into a light drizzle, allowing the sound of his skin brushing over yours and the shuffle of the blanket to echo in his ears.

He scoots impossibly closer, pressing your back against his chest hoping your skin would mold with his. Nose buried in the crook of your shoulder; kisses light as breeze following the length of it. 

You smell so good you disarm him. He sighs as if he’s been utterly defeated, lost a battle he didn’t even know he was fighting. 

His mind hushes, finally. His heart unwinds itself – springs let loose, pulse calm. 

There’s you. The way your breaths come. Your limbs stirring at the gooseflesh left by his kisses. The rising sun lapping at your skin. The rise and fall of your back. 

It’s calm.

Your head turns slightly, looking over your shoulder. You must only see his eyes, lazily glancing at you through pale lashes.

Yours are a dawning sun.

They’re soft and gentle, pale yellows and blues, peeking above the sheer horizon of sleep you’re trying to overcome. Idle, slow, but most welcome.

“Hey,” you croak, blinking the drowsiness away. “You okay?”

He hums a quiet yeah in your skin. Hasn’t even noticed his hand returning to your stomach and pulling you in, angling you against his lap. 

And fuck him, but he’s sporting the hard-on of a lifetime. 

He knows you’ll understand that he’s been deprived of such pleasures for three months, but it doesn’t make him any less embarrassed. A hand in his pants, while he hid somewhere more private in the middle of nowhere was a temporary fix that fixed very fucking little. Especially not after having been spoiled by you.

Simon doesn’t necessarily want to fuck you, now. Sure, his dick might have a head of its own, and he wouldn’t complain against it were it to happen, but he still has control of his actions. And now he just wants to feel you, whether inside or out doesn’t matter – as long as it’s you.

Nevertheless, he isn’t expecting you to have much different plans. Naturally, he isn’t going to protest.

Your ass tentatively presses against his length, the satin of your shorts sliding easily along the cotton of his boxers. You’re still so sleepy – he sees you digging a knuckle in your eye, nostrils flaring as you let out a big yawn. 

Were you aware of what you were doing, or were you being a goddamn minx?

“Well, good mornin’,” you murmur, a lick of a smile on your lips. “Brought me a souvenir from bumfuck nowhere?”

Minx it is. 

He snuffs out a chuckle by harshly pressing his lips against your shoulder, sewing his lips shut. Unfortunately, his chest rumbles against your back and you catch it before he manages to catch himself. 

Your hand goes to rest above his own on your stomach, fingers intertwining. 

Soft skin on both sides: palm to your belly, knuckles to your hand. He’s sandwiched in bliss. Three months away, barely any contact, and all he apparently needed to alleviate some wounds was just a handful of hours spent asleep in your presence.

His lips part slightly. Kisses turn wetter and teeth bite at your neck, his tongue darting out to subsequently soothe the ache. Your hand has already guided his own to your breast, and your mouth is breathing sounds he’s missed.

And he tells you, because why should he hide a thing from you.

“Missed ya,” he croaks, voice a little shaky for reasons unknown. He could look in his head (or his heart) and find them – surely, they’re there. But he figures the present feels much better than the jumbled mess inside.

Reasons can wait.

“Let me feel you, yeah?” 

Your head bending backward to his face is the answer you give him, back pressed flush against his chest. You guide his hand up and squeeze it around the fat of your breast to assert your approval. 

But he’s not satisfied with that. Needs your voice to tell him it’s alright, that you’re not under some sleep-induced spell. That you’re fine with having him feel you, and you’re not just offering yourself because he’s been away for so long and you want to give him some sort of reward.

Simply, that you want him as much as he wants you.

His voice is raspy and low, “Words, love.”

"Please," you whisper and vigorously grind your ass against his groin. “Touch me.”

He hisses and presses forward too, meeting your movements. 

He’s still a little out of it, senses overrun by the general fatigue clinging to his muscles as the aftermath of deployment, his bones weary and getting accustomed once more to the comfort of a bed instead of a cot. 

Mind absolutely quiet.

He flicks his thumb over your nipple. Rolls it between thumb and forefinger. Your shuddering breath prompts him to pull at it, and it causes you to arch your back off of him, pressing further against his painfully hard cock. 

He grunts against your shoulder, hand busy teasing your breasts and hips rutting against the plump flesh of your ass. You grind back against him, working in tandem to relieve at least some of that ache. 

Each movement is a languid stroke of fabric that gives him enough pleasure to cause his resolve to falter. When he turns your head sideways, leaving your tits to grasp your jaw, he loses it. Your flushed cheeks, lower lip trapped between your teeth, the whites of your eyes still a little red from sleep.

Lips on lips, slotting together like magnets. 

Too long. 

Too damn long. 

Sure, he kissed you when he came back, a bunch of hours before. But this is a whole other thing. The connection behind it, the pinch of your brows conveying the same desperation he has. Hands grabbing at flesh, bodies grinding against each other. Tongues dancing privately. Eyes closed to shut the world out. Moans and pants, dotted with the occasional curse slipping from his lips when the length of his cock catches the cleft of your ass.

His palm slides down and crosses the threshold marked by your shorts. He’s awfully delighted to find out you have nothing underneath them. Feels blessed when his middle finger slides down your cunt to find it impossibly wet. 

“Oh - Simon,” He hears you whimper, and he almost comes in his briefs then and there because he has no right to hear you say his sullied name with such devotion behind it. 

Seemingly feeling the need to respond in kind, your arm blindly reaches behind, and you slip it between your butt and his groin. Your hand is soft as it palms his cock, the cotton of his boxers an annoying barrier. 

The tip is leaking tremendously, and he should be embarrassed about the obvious wet spot he must be sporting on his briefs. However, he can’t even manage to concoct the thought that your fingers are already fumbling with the elastic band of his underwear and finding their way in.

Simon shudders when your warm hand curls around his shaft. 

You glide your hand up, collecting precum on your palm, before sliding back down again – velvet skin being pulled over the head to steer clear of overstimulation, and then down once more. Similarly, he crooks his finger to gather your wetness and uses it to roll idle circles around your clit. 

And it goes on, and on, and on, and on. It’s slow and drawn out, both of you wanting to reach that high but at the same time don’t – cutting off pleasure doesn’t seem fitting, when both of you have been starved of one another.

He bends the arm beneath your neck to pull your head back, next to his own, cheek to cheek. Simon’s hips jerk to blatantly fuck your fist, yours flow with the movement of his fingers circling your clit, stroking yourself against his hand.

He starts getting antsy, however, when he notices that he can’t properly reach you. Can’t have you unravel on his fingers like he’s done so many times before. Simon wants – needs – to see you unfold and squirm under the pressure of his hand. Needs to have you cream on his fingers – as simple as it’s primal.

He murmurs against the shell of your ear, “Need to stretch you out, love.”

And – goddamn you, you whine. Your hand doesn’t stop its languid movements, but it further slows down, as if you needed all of yourself to cooperate and form a single thought.

“Jus’ do it, I missed you.” You whimper, breathy and high-pitched. “Won’t hurt much, I promise.”

Simon sucks in a sharp breath, closing his eyes because your voice has gone straight to his cock and he needs to disassociate for a second to recollect himself.

You’re a temptress, even in your loving, tender desperation. And how sweet it is to know that he isn’t the only one craving those intimate touches he can only give you. You’ve had your fair share of relationships and lovers, but has he? Some quick ones, enough to get rid of natural aches. Definitely not with a connection so deeply ingrained. 

And he tastes, then, the beauty of mutuality. Of giving and receiving. 

He retreats his hand and prompts you to do the same. Helps you take off your shorts and pulls his cock out of his underwear. He holds you still with one arm around your waist, palm flat against your lower belly to angle you better. 

Gingerly, he guides the tip to your slit, dragging it upward until it catches your clit and you hiss, and then down to your hole. Back and forth, happily realizing that he has, in fact, made you wet enough to make it hurt less. And while he tends to be open to many requests made under the bedsheets, anything that causes you pain is a huge, firm no in his book. 

Which is why he’s a bit hesitant now, pressing chaste kisses against your shoulder, trying to soften the ache that will inevitably come. A juxtaposition, really, to his cock dragging a raw, slow dance down your cunt.

It’s then that you turn your head in the pillow to groan against the fabric, and your legs clamp together and essentially choke him between the plush of your thighs.

The sensation is initially a sharp jolt that makes him spout a series of curses under his breath. But then the glisten of your cunt mixed with the precum you’ve diligently smeared all over him, with your folds and your plump thighs wrapped around him in a warm, wet hug – he sees the appeal. 

And thrusts. Shamelessly – once, twice, thrice. Snapping harshly, only to draw back slowly. Grunting to your skin. Chest vibrating against your back.

“F – fuck,” he manages to choke out, wringing his eyes closed to regain some control over his actions and failing spectacularly.

Your moans don’t help. They perfectly align with the slap of his hips against your ass, with the wet noises of your sodden cunt against his cock. It’s as filthy as it’s fucking wonderful, and he’s terribly afraid he’ll finish before he can even fit the head inside of you. 

The grip he has around your waist only tightens, leaving you breathless by the second. Simon has his mouth next to your ear, giving you the privilege of hearing even the smallest breaths he exhales. 

“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he whispers, panting from the effort. 

Curiously, he takes a peek over your shoulder as he fucks your thighs, catching the flushed head of his cock stroking your clit and appearing each time he thrusts in. It’s fucking debauched and he loves it to bits. So much that he groans and rolls his eyes, struggling not to paint your thighs with his spend.

“Need to fuck you,” he hurries, choking on the words. “Now, love.”

Rapidly (and reluctantly), he pulls out of the pillowy, snug space your thighs had inadvertently created for him, almost hissing when the cold air hits the sensitive skin of his cock, coated in yours and his arousal. 

“On your back, swee’heart,” he gently guides you down, adding a brisk yet tender “C’mon.”

And you comply, feeling almost like a ragdoll in his hands. Lips parted and slick as they form small Yes’s to convey the same ache he feels. It takes him less than a breath to place his mouth over yours again. 

As he hovers above you, thick arms on each side of your head and chapped lips crashing against your own, he slots his hips between your legs. The softer flesh of the inside of your thighs is still wet from when he’s buried his cock between them. He feels the fluids stick to the skin of his hips.

Taking his time, he lets a hand wander down your chest, flowing to your belly until his fingers reach your core – where you’re wet, and warm, and still pressing up against his cock, searching for friction.

He plunges a finger inside, making the movement of your hips stutter and your mouth gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“Gotta stretch you out," he repeats languidly, because he cannot - for the life of him - put words into sentences without thinking about the structure beforehand.

He’s aware he’s big. It used to chub up his ego when he was younger and brash, but now he can’t be arsed about it. Big or small, he’s learned that it’s how you use it – and to be frank, he hasn’t used it much before you.

But he knows it’s going to hurt if he just puts it in with little to no preparation. He hasn’t seen you in three months, and you can trust him when he says he’s as ravenous as you are and can’t bloody wait to be inside you where he’s warm and blessed – but causing you pain? When it can be avoided so easily (and he can make it feel good, too)?

Absolutely not. Categorical. 

He wants you to indulge in the blissful touches and the highs he can bring. Needs you to associate him to kindness and soft breaths and how much he hungers for you – he'll gladly eat you up, but only if you say so. 

“’S not gonna hurt,” you mumble again, sounding a little drunk in the effort to convince him. “Please.”

Your eyes flutter to him, and they’re this dark pool he can’t seem to navigate. Lust overflowing like fat, miry tears that can’t fit in the space of your sockets, and then something even darker – longing. You’re looking at him as if it's the first time you’re seeing him.

He gets it, then, how good you’ve been at hiding it so he wouldn’t hurt at the thought of hurting you. He must've unconsciously taught you a thing or two, by wearing stoicism, neutrality, and more tangible skull masks. 

You’ve missed him body and soul. 

You’re there, eyes heavy and full, begging for him to come back to you. 

How long have you been waiting for me like this? 

“Oh, love,”  he breathes and kisses you again.

A long finger inside, pushing against the place he knows makes your eyes water.

“M’sorry,” he whispers, thumb steadfast on your clit, as if he could apologize just by using his fingers because words tend to fail him when he needs them the most.

And so, he slides in his ring finger too, feeling the momentarily tight fit and the subsequent way you relax to welcome him. Your lips part to sharply breathe in, eyes scrunching close at the stretch. He can feel your hands stiffen against his back until they travel up his spine and tangle through shorn blond hair. 

You’re keeping him close, with your forehead pressed to his almost to the point of pain. Your noses are in the way of the onslaught you’re causing on his mouth. Strained, heavy pants brush his lips when you part from him to breathe, before lavishing him with attention again.

You’re always good with words. You always know what to say, and yet you’re being extremely quiet – it worries him more than the look you have in your eyes. 

“M’sorry.”

For being away. 

For not telling you where I was. 

For leaving you to wonder whether I’d come back, or not. 

For not calling. 

I’m sorry. 

“M’so sorry.”

My girl.  

His hand cradles the back of your head as if he could get you any closer, and he fucks you with his fingers.

“Don’t be,” you reply, your voice so faint and lost in the sounds of your bodies he has to perk his ears for it. “You’re home.”

My sweet, sweet girl. 

And he buries his face in your neck, leaving wanton kisses that have very little erotic power to them. He’s just trying to taste you, really. Trying to commit you to memory again, conveying fierce apologies to your skin. 

He can feel you clench around him, almost sucking him in, each time his fingers reach deep.

“Fuck, need to see you come.” He murmurs to the skin of your neck.

Thumb aching, he replaces it with the heel of his hand. A continuous and tortuous curl of his fingers inside of you, palm cupping your cunt and rolling against your clit. His cock aches when you whimper and stifle it by biting into his shoulder. A sharp exhale. Skin sweaty and pressed against his chest. Hands tugging at his hair. 

“Don’t-” You croak. “Just- just fuck me, Si.”

He groans because stop being stubborn, will ya?

“I’ll cum the moment I get in, swee’heart.” He tries to reason and almost loses it at the raunchy, squelching sounds caused by his fingers between your legs. "Lemme take care of you before tha'."

But it's like talking to a wall.

"'s fine, love. I don't care, yeah?" Your hips move against his hand, but at this point, he gathers it's just a natural body response to pleasure. “You’ll take care of me tomorrow, and the days after that.”

Just when he’s about to rebut, you sandwich an arm between your bodies and curl soft fingers around his cock. The simple act makes him stop his motions, and he feels you pulse and clench around his fingers.

“Please.” You whisper, voice like silk. 

He crumbles, then, at the sight of your eyes. Watery and glossy and wide – lust a long-forgotten thing. 

He nods briefly when he surrenders. A jerky movement of his jaw as he swallows thickly. Doesn’t dare to avert his gaze from yours when he retrieves his hand and loves to catch how your brows pinch at the sudden emptiness inside. Sloppily, he coats his stiff cock with your wetness with a few weak pumps.

His eyes stay on you, as he goes in blindly, guided by touch only, and drives the tip to your hole. Tries to gauge your thoughts by the expressions on your face, and fails miserably, for once, at keeping his own concealed.

Barely aware and in control of what his face is conveying, he gathers you must appreciate it because you shift your palms to cradle his cheeks. He doesn’t know why you do it because there’s nothing on this godforsaken planet that could make his attention swerve to any thoughts but how beautiful you look when your lips stroke his own with featherlight pressure.

And he slides in, comfortably easy. Feels your puffy lips stretch to welcome him whole, inch by inch. Piece by piece of him, in every way you want to interpret it. 

His jaw is locked tight because as soon as your walls envelop the head of his cock, he already feels himself shutting down. His eyes close – he can’t afford to look at how you morph for him. How your pussy swallows the first inches of his cock, puffy clit begging to be touched and lavished. How your mouth parts against his own to yield soft moans and breathy whispers that encourage him to please, please, please go deeper. 

He can’t. Stubbornly thinking he must last long enough to give you some pleasure or it will all be worthless. And so, it’s a repetitive dance: an inch in, and a full pull out. Stop. Another inch, and pull out. 

It’s driving him fucking mental.

“Let go,” you say, tearing his head out of the gutter. “Look at me, and let go.”

He can’t exactly decide whether you’re being the devil on his shoulder, or an angel sent from heaven – either way, the aim is to ruin him. Yet it doesn’t matter when he opens his eyes, and you look so beautiful his heart cracks, with a thin layer of sweat on your brow and the sheen of his spit on bitten lips. 

You don't have to tell him twice at this point, because the way your hands force his face steady so he keeps his eyes on you does most of the trick. His resolve crumbles at breakneck speed.

He bottoms out, pushing his pelvis flush against yours. Your eyes roll back at the same time, legs going stiff and tight around his hips. He does a tentative roll that causes the coarse hair on his groin to press against your bundle of nerves.

"Fuck," you breathe, your voice cracking at the edges. He echoes it right after you, or at the same time – he's not sure, but in his defense, he's not confident about a single thing right now.

If not how absurdly scorching you are, all wrapped around him.

With that, he hooks one arm around your waist and tucks his other hand behind your head. He holds you close like you might slip away, and he’s sure as hell not taking any chances.

He fucks you slowly, deep thrusts that fill you up all the way, and greedy love bites on your neck. Open-mouthed kisses at your throat, sliding up to your jaw and cheeks, all the way to your lips. Truthfully, he’s both trying to get his senses chock full of you, and keep his mouth shut so no words spoken while in ecstasy escape.

The slap of his hips against yours drowns the taps of the morning drizzle against the windowpane. He’s got your face buried in the crook of his neck, and your pants echo in his ears like a fucking promise that threatens to unravel him.

Each thrust has him fully sheathed inside of you. It fills him with primal pride and fuels his pleasure, because you take him so fucking well he can't help but think he's modeled you in his perfect image. He grunts against you and tugs at your hair out of sheer desperation to hold on – just a little longer.

But you’re swearing in his ear. Breathless fuck’s whispered like a curse and a vow at the same time. You shift your hips to change the angle and that makes him hit even deeper and he swears he hears you whimper in that telltale way he knows well.

He lifts your hips up and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

And he absolutely rams into you.

“Christ I missed you.” He rumbles and his voice cracks while your moans rise in pitch and your nails scratch his back. “Fuckin’ thought of you," Thrust. "Every bleedin’ day.”

He’s rambling now, intoxicated on the feeling of you. His words are slurred and strained and, deep down, there’s a more sober version of Simon Riley cursing at himself for speaking his heart out.

Luckily, it’s drowned by the slap of flesh against flesh and the wet sounds of your cunt milking him dry. 

Finally, he thinks, he's using his strength not to wield a heavy M4 or to ram against hostiles, but to fuck you on his cock – knee-deep in the mattress for leverage.

He lets go, like you asked.

He murmurs in your ear (Fuckin’ beautiful), words alternated with heavy pants (An’ all mine) and the animalistic grunts of a man cocooned in bliss (All fuckin’ mine).

His hips stutter and he knows he’s close, but you’re not even nearby, in spite of how he can feel you clench around him, sucking him in. And God, the guilt that fills him almost makes him stop even if he has that sweet, sweet release just around the bend.

But you won’t have that, naturally. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, clammy and sticking out weirdly because he’s sweaty and hot. He feels his head being shifted to the side, so you can look into his eyes.

And oh, how can you look at him like that? How is he even deserving of it – fuck you and your relentless ways to crawl under his skin and make him feel like he’s worth a damn, with your eyes glossy and hooded. A thick veil of admiration, fondness, and you. 

You, you, you. 

Where have you been all his life, with this color in your eyes?

“Come inside.” You plead tenderly, breathless and raspy, as he pounds you into your own bed. Your fingers smooth back rogue strands that are sticking to his forehead. “Please come inside.”

And you crush his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. One that marks his demise. He’s falling hard into your embrace, figuratively and literally, too.

He uses whatever shreds of strength he has left to ram into you as if his life depended on it, punching gasp after heaving gasp out of your beautiful lips into his hungry mouth.

It works like a spell because he feels the familiar pressure building at the base of his cock. Syrupy hot warmth runs down his legs to the tips of his toes. Tingling. Tightening. Burning so good he thinks he's melting within you.

Suddenly, his head spins, and he groans in your parted lips as he ruts into you one last time – until he has you filled to the brim. His eyes slam shut as he spills inside of you – cock pulsating and hot. 

His high takes its sweet time, canceling out all background noises and only leaving your sweet breaths to fill in his ears, and the pounding of his heart. 

Simon unceremoniously drops on you like dead weight, allowing your legs to return around his waist. His lips slide off yours until his head is tucked in the crook of your neck. He’s absolutely spent, but there isn’t enough fatigue in this world that could keep him away from you. You’re sweaty and he’s worse, but he doesn’t see why, in the haze of his orgasm, he shouldn’t have his lips reach every inch of skin he can.

His kisses are lazy – a stark contrast from the desperation he’s displayed until now. 

He feels safe. He feels at home, still buried deep inside of you, feeling the come that couldn’t fit inside ooze out and onto the bedsheets. A bummer to clean, he’ll realize when he’ll get his sanity back.

And he wants to tell you so many things when he feels your hands skimming down his back in a soothing dance. Wants to tell you how you’ve flipped his life, with the ease of tossing a coin – heads and tails. Opposites so striking you should be deemed a witch. 

He was in deep fucking shit before you offered your smile. Inching closer and closer to dead-ended alleys and dark, murky thoughts that could only lead to dreadful places.

You gave him something to yearn for, something to miss when he's away, and something to cherish when he's here. 

There’s nothing he can do to return the favor but love you in equal measure. 

It’s not the first time the word love has come up in his head when his mind was lost in memories of you. And while he’d rather not dwell on it now, while you hold him to your chest as he comes back to his senses, he knows the time will eventually come.

Yet he doesn’t dread it. Not one bit.

Fear pocket sewn shut. Finally. 

He lifts his head to look up at you and finds you doing the same – he’s sure he’s thoroughly fucked in the best way imaginable. 

“I’ll take care of everything later,” you say, reading his thoughts. “You okay?”

It takes him a while to respond. Mental gymnastics to reawaken the parts of his brain that are still tingling in the afterglow. 

“Never better, love.” 

“Sleep?” You offer, as if he isn’t still buried inside of you and effectively crushing you under his weight. 

You don’t seem to mind, and so he trusts you and doesn’t either.

His eyes are half closed as he slides down to rest his head in the valley of your breasts. "Y' didn't cum," he mumbles, leaving an open mouthed kiss on the fat of your tits.

Your fingers brush through his hair to keep him close, and when your nails scrape at his scalp he feels gooseflesh rise along his arms. 

"'S fine," you whisper gently, and he's struck by the earnestness in your tone. But then you quip, "I'll have ya on your knees tomorrow."

And he scoffs. "Makin' it sound like a punishment."

You purse your lips and land a kiss on the crown of his head. "Then stop complaining."

He grunts something he himself can't even discern. 

“Y’need to piss first.” He grumbles mindlessly, as if the thought of you standing up annoys him but he knows a UTI is even more aggravating.

You snort. “Charming."

And he responds in kind. "Chivalry's dead anyway."

There's a few seconds of silence only broken by your quiet chuckle. "I’ll wait for you to fall asleep, then ‘m off to the loo. Deal?”

He grunts in agreement, liking the compromise you’re offering. “Deal.” 

And his head stays quiet. Sleazy hands and raging voices cease, silenced under the thunder of your heartbeat.

“I missed you.” He thinks he hears you whisper, your voice thick and wet. He closes his eyes with his head on your chest. “’M so happy you’re home.”

────────────

Simon wakes up with shy sunbeams peeking through the blinds and brushing his brow. You must’ve closed them when you woke up, to shield him from the sun.

He blinks idly, momentarily lost in that phase between sleep and waking life, still unsure of where he is. His mouth is pasty, and his eyes struggle against sunlight. The duvet is up to his chin, and it smells of grapefruit-scented softener, and of you. The pillow is a little wet, and he embarrassingly notices that it’s because he’s drooled on it – he smacks his lips once, twice, but his tongue might as well be a dried-up cinderblock.

It has been a long time since he’s slept like this. Since his mind has shut down and left him alone. Since his night has gone smoothly, sleep comatose and dreamless – nightmare-less.

And you’re not there, but that’s okay.

Because he hears your music from the kitchen, kept at a low volume so you won’t wake him up. The clanking of utensils frames the beat, pans and pots being moved around as you hum to yourself following the melody. The smell of eggs, sausages, potatoes, and fresh veggies – a full English. Wafts of that disgusting coffee you drink in the morning intertwined with the softer notes of the tea you’re brewing for him.

You were right: he is home.

And he can’t see your eyes, but that’s okay too.

He guesses he’ll never remember their exact shade, Simon’s fine with it. No better thing than to discover you once more, each time he gets to come home.

They change with you, following the flow of whatever you allow to show, and of what he’s learned to read. They’re the color of that life he’s unwittingly always looked for. That life promising a pocket of peace for himself. Chock full of love and nice things he’s always been deprived of.

A balm to both his ancient and newest wounds.

He has never shared a single story about his past, never told you why his body is like a tattered book whose tale is as horrific as it looks. But you don’t mind, and he doesn’t know why because he’s firmly set on the idea that you must know someone inside out to be sure you care.

And it’s then that it hits him, that you do know him – better than anyone. You know the man he is. You want the man he is now, the man he will be one day – as mental as it sounds to him. His present, and his future. And sure, his past might have made this man you know, but he’s not the same Simon under his father's thumb or the one felled by Roba’s tortures.

Although he’s not sure he can reopen certain sutures without the wounds bleeding all over the floor, he'll try. He’ll clean up, if he must, knowing that you’ll help him have each injury scab over again. 

What baffles him is that you’re not saying he has to. You’re saying he can. And this choice you’re giving him is a privilege he’s never had the chance to bear.

He can tell you everything, and you’ll listen. He can keep it to himself, and you’ll stay, accepting that there will be places of him you’ll never venture – and to you, that is fine.

As long as he stays, too.

There are no words he can use to express his gratitude. He can only love you – and it might take him a while to acknowledge that he’s capable, but he already does love you.

You appear at the door as he’s lost in his own head, still tucked under the duvet. Strips of sunlight cross your form, curving around the beautiful shape of you.

“Good morning, you.” You say, with a smile that reminds him of the sun.

Lazily, he offers one of his own to you. It’s lopsided and he thinks not quite as beautiful. 

He hopes you forgive him for it: takes practice to be happy, and he’s still learning.

And so, he smiles, and looks at you like you're the most tangible form of joy he's ever witnessed. 

His voice is raspy from sleep, and soft from you.

“Mornin’, love.”

[azsazz]

Cold Shoulder (Part 3)

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: please i know requests are closed but what happens after cold shoulder 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Warnings: Smut, oral (F receiving).

Word Count: 2202

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown Shots & Spins Sprinkles of Luck and Doubt Cold Shoulder (Part 1) (Part 2)

_________________________________________

“You know,” Azriel huffs, shouldering the bookshelf you have him moving into place. “When I said that I’d do anything to get you to forgive me, I was thinking something along the lines of taking you to dinner or doing some of your homework or eating you out until you accepted my apology.” Your cheeks flare hot as the image his head between your legs flashes through your mind. You carefully cross your ankles where you’re sitting on your bed. “Not rearranging your furniture.”

You’d feel bad about asking Azriel to reposition the furniture in your room, but you couldn’t think of anything else when it came to punishing him for how he’d treated you a few weeks ago in the locker room. If you’d asked for a sexual favor, he’d have been much too eager, and there’s no way you would have been able to hold yourself back from giving him something in return. So, moving furniture it was.

“Well, the feng shui is all off in here and I need better sleep,” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. You let your eyes trail the tight t-shirt he has on, down to the light gray sweatpants that he knows make you wetter than that shower he abandoned you in. His dark hair is a disheveled mess, too, only adding to the raw sexual power emanating from him. Azriel isn’t playing about wanting you to forgive him, and he’s pulling out all the stops in hopes that you will. “Now, a little to the left, please.”

Truth is, you haven’t been sleeping well for a multitude of reasons, half of which involve the hockey player who shoots you a ‘seriously?’ look before following your direction. You bite your lip to hide your smile as you admire his backside. The few weeks you’ve spent ignoring Azriel have been long and hard, but not as long and hard as his cock, which, you can’t seem to stop thinking about in the late hours of the nights. Your vibrator in no way, shape, or length, compares to what Azriel is packing beneath those light gray sweatpants that sag low on his hips, which would reveal the waistband of his briefs, if he were wearing any.

He knows exactly where your eyes keep drifting to.

You find that you have better sleep when he’s around. Not just because he fucks you to exhaustion. It’s the nights that you aren’t having sex, too. Azriel’s presence alone is calming, and when he scratches your scalp or strokes his hand down your back, you find it much easier to forget the worries of perfecting your routine running rampant in your mind and relax in his strong hold.

“Right there!” You exclaim, grinning sheepishly when Azriel looks over his shoulder at you. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else you want rearranged?”

You’re sure that he doesn’t mean to phrase it suggestively, but you can’t help that your mind goes to the possibility of Azriel rearranging your guts. In a good way. A really good way.

Fuck.

Your face roasts with a blush. Azriel raises that damn brow again and you swear that you see the corner of his lips twitch in amusement. Like he’s thinking the same exact thing you are. Suddenly, you yearn to see that handsome smile of his.

“Uh, no. I think that’s it,” you answer, tucking your hands carefully under your thighs to keep yourself from reaching out to him.

“You sure?” he teases, prowling closer. You’re frozen to the spot, heart picking up in your chest when he comes to a stop before you, knee to knee. The way he’s staring down at you, like he wants to press you right back into the mattress behind you, causes a full body shiver that’s impossible to hold in. His hazel eyes are dark with arousal, and to further the way you react to him, he plants his hands on either side of you, leaning down until you’re the same height.

“I’m pretty sure,” you breathe, and you’re so close that your lips almost brush. You’ve missed him. Your hands ache to touch, to trail down his broad chest, to hook into the waistband of his pants and pull. Your body yearns for his. All you want right now is for him to lean forward, place all his weight on you while he fucks you into the bed.

Azriel’s voice is husky, and it causes your nipples to tighten beneath your shirt. “You sure I can’t help with anything else? I can move the bed. It looks a little off center.” You know his words aren’t a coincidence this time. He’s making innuendos on purpose, and it just so happens that you like the sound of that.

Your thighs part and Azriel slowly eases between them. If your heart wasn’t racing in your chest before, it is when he lowers himself to his knees before you. No matter how many times you’ve seen him in this position—when he helped you with your skates, the first time he went down on you—it still sets your body on fire. You’re pretty sure your cunt wets partially because Azriel’s conditioned you, praising you with such pretty words each time he does this.

He’s so close you can feel his warmth, but he’s not touching you like you want like you need.

“Yeah, I guess it is a little off center, now that I think about it,” you whisper, loving the way his eyes darken with arousal. From the corner of your vision, you can see his cock twitch in his pants.

“Wouldn’t want the feng shui to be off,” he murmurs back, shuffling forward so you can feel how interested he is in making sure your bed is in perfect position. You inhale softly; a sound that makes him want to fuck into you with fervor. You make him lose his goddamn mind.

Azriel’s hand finds your wrists, gently pulling your hands from where they’re still tucked under your thighs. He wraps one around his shoulder, guiding your fingers to the nape of his neck where you love to pull. Especially when you’re out of your mind, drunk on his tongue or fingers or cock. His hips almost buck when your fingers curl into his black strands, tugging subconsciously.

With the other hand, he intertwines your fingers with his, holding tightly. Gods, he’s fucking missed you. He’s been nothing but a storm cloud since he walked out on you, and everyone has taken notice. Even coach, who told him to fix his shit and get his head in the game or he won’t be playing against the Flyer’s this weekend.

He wants to play, but he wants your forgiveness more.

“Yeah,” you agree distractedly, and pull his mouth to yours.

The kiss doesn’t start slow. It’s fast and hot, the both of you ravaging each other like you’re wild animals devouring a kill. It feels like it’s been much longer since Azriel’s mouth has been on yours.

Your body surges with adrenaline and excitement when his tongue traces the seam of your lips, which part for him like the red fucking sea. Fireworks explode when your tongues touch, a tentative, gentle caress, as if he’s asking you if it’s okay. Your responding tug on his hair has him moving quicker, more assured, his tongue scraping yours in a way that makes you whimper.

“Fuck,” he breathes between kisses. His hands trail down your thighs, pushing higher to dip into the waistband of your sleep shorts. He snaps the elastic and you gasp against his mouth, dragging your free hand down the rippling muscles of his heaving chest. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you pant. You don’t want to pull away from him, not when you just got him back, but Azriel’s pulling at your pants and you do want them off.

Reluctantly, you lean back on your elbows and lift your hips for him. He loves that fucking look in your eyes, your lowered lids, the way you lick across your swollen lips as if chasing the taste of him. You have this fucked-out look on your face and he hasn’t even done anything yet, but he will.

Azriel helps you from your shorts and panties. Your thighs are already, trembling in anticipation, even more so with the way he caresses your sensitive skin.

Those hazel eyes are locked on your pretty cunt. Yeah, he’s missed you in more ways than one. Your taste has been haunting him. You’re like a drug he can’t get enough of, but he’s about to get his fix.

“Az,” you whine when he dips his head and presses featherlight kisses to your thighs. You need him higher and centered now. It’s been too long.

“Okay, okay,” he shushes. He wraps his hands under your legs and pulls you to the edge of the bed, right to where his eager mouth awaits.

You cry out in pleasure at the first swipe of his tongue through your wetness. Your back aches off of the bed and his hands finds your hips, pressing you back into the mattress.

Azriel’s mouth is fucking magical. You knew he was skilled with his hands, but this tongue…for someone usually so quiet he sure knows how to work you to the brink. His tongue flicks in a rhythm so fast that you can’t help but sneak your hand into his hair and grind your hips against his face. He growls, chest puffing with pleasure when you pull.

But he’s teasing you. He sucks and licks at your clit, drawing you closer and closer to euphoria before he moves away, lower, to fuck his tongue into you. He’s not going to let you have it this easily, even if he should.

“Azriel! A little to the left, please,” you whine desperately, repeating your words from earlier. You don’t know how you find it in yourself to tease right now, because the feeling in the pit of your stomach is bubbling into something that’s going to rock your world, but you manage.

Azriel’s eyes are near black when he peers up at you. You yelp when he removes his attention from your clit only to give a harsh nip at the meat of your thigh.

“My baby wants to come?” He asks, teasing a knuckle down your slit. You shudder on the bed and your neck nearly gives out at his touch. His words on the other hand, Azriel knows you love his fucking words.

“Yeah,” you gasp, and this time, when he spreads you with his fingers and licks a long, slow stripe through your wetness, circling slowly around your sensitive clit that aches for release, your neck does give out, your head falling to the mattress.

“You want me to lick this pussy until the bedsheets are soaked in your come?” He sucks, hard, and your back arches off of the bed.

“Yes!” You shout, fingers clawing at his t-shirt covered shoulders. You should have had him take it off, your nails threaten to tear the fabric.

Azriel hums against your clit, and the feeling reverberates to your bones. Your mouth parts and your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling. You’re so close…so so close that you can feel the heat coiling in your body—

“That’s my girl,” Azriel says, ignoring the way you whine impatiently when he removes his mouth from you again. This is just cruel, how he teases you like this. How you secretly love it. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my face,” he says, before diving back into your cunt with even more vigor.

You’re lost to his tongue, to the finger he slips inside of you. He brushes that bundle of nerves and it sends you plummeting over the edge into orgasm.

You writhe against his face, riding out the feeling that washes over you, threatening to drown you with pleasure. Azriel watches from where he’s still flicking his tongue over your clit, cock so hard in his pants that he might just come from watching you.

Your body convulses with sensitivity when you begin to come down from your high. Your thighs threaten to shut around Azriel’s head, but you know for a fact that he likes it when you do that.

“Az,” you keen desperately. He slows, sucking soft kisses against your clit, then slowly moves away when you give a soft, spent moan. He kisses the crook of your leg, your thigh, up to your hipbones. You manage somehow to lift your head to look at him, and your pussy clenches when you see the glistening of your wetness around his lips. He looks as blissed out as you feel, but his eyes suggest that the night isn’t over yet.

You take a deep breath and he watches the heat return to your gaze.

“I think the beds still a little off,” you say, breathlessly.

Azriel grins and your heart soars. “It’s about to be way off by the time I’m done with you tonight, pretty girl. I hope you’re ready.”

Fuck. You are. You really are.

_________________________________________

Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13 @sunny1616 @lilylilyyyyyy @esahintzkanen

[readerforexiao]

𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 | 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

⌗ Itoshi Sae x Reader | fluff, romance | word count: 1k

⌗ A/n: i love this man. I love having thoughts about him. Also is tumblr ruining the quality of my banner?? :(

⌗ "For a peck could leave you breathless and lightheaded, but a kiss— his kiss— could unravel you piece by piece, leaving you vulnerable to everything he promised."

Sae doesn’t kiss you often, but when he does, it is always special and deeply meaningful.

Slow. That is how it begins. Not necessarily in the sense that it drags on endlessly, but in the way he ensures every second counts.

Sae lingers still at first, unmoving, as if savoring the closeness. Then, with the softest, almost hesitant of motions, his lips brush against yours to test the waters, relearning and remembering their shape. His movements are deliberate, intentional, so much that he needs to feel the intimacy bursting between you both before he even dares to consider it a kiss.

He leaves gentle pecks, his tongue barely grazing your lower lip and it sends a shiver down your spine, sparking what you cherished most, his attentiveness.

His eyes remain open and gazing at you before they flutter shut and he indulges himself.

It all happens in mere seconds, yet it feels like time stretches on with every heartbeat sundering and unweaving the threads of your resolve.

His touch. Fingers that brush along the length of your forearms, tracing over soft, pampered skin— provokes a shiver to cascade down your spine. It elicits goosebumps, a subtle reaction but so dearly cherished by him. It ripples through your very being, how he can love you such that it gravitates towards your core and embraces it.

And your soul unfurls for him. Like two ends of a string destined to intertwine, they meet, his love anchoring itself in your heart and becoming home.

The world dissolves into a haze until all that remains is the weight of his forehead resting against yours and his hands steady but sure as they hold you close.

Sae knows that when you kiss, it is meant to be a moment where his guarded walls are lowered and you can feel the sincerity of his feelings.

It amazes you to no end how he, known to be cold and blunt in his ways and relentless in his drive, is able to pour all the words he cannot say, the emotions he struggles to express, and the love that seems to overwhelm him beyond his ability to comprehend— into a single, fleeting gesture and mean it so passionately, for there’s a strange comfort in how he can engulf the emptiness when you’re at your lowest.

There have been times before when others offered comfort, only to unintentionally leave you feeling even more depleted. Sae somehow replenishes you without taking a piece of your soul.

He fills that empty glass with delicacy that not a drop manages to spill through the cracks. His effort is there, albeit subtle. It is never overwhelming and restores what's been used without leaving you more exhausted.

So yes, Itoshi Sae may not be the most expressive or the most forthcoming with displays of affection, but he is far from unware of your feelings and your rights. In his own quiet way, he respects and understands you, always finding a compromise that neither discomforts him nor deprives you.

Like during mundane tasks, such as house shopping when he walks with his arms slack at his sides, the distance between you blurring as his pinky purposefully brushes against yours. Before you know it, he takes your hand loosely in his, not even realizing that simple act is calming the anxiety within you.

Whether it’s a grand event or something small, Sae remains the star of the show and the center of spotlight. Always. And though never one to entertain the crowds, his presence was strong, the protectiveness and loyalty toward you undeniable!

As you leave the venue spent and yearning for the plush of your mattress, under the night sky and stars glimmering the pathway of your leave, his hand settles on your arm, gently running up and down to warm you, because unfortunately he is not wearing a blazer he can offer.

Sae pulls you a little closer to his side, opens the car door for you, straps you in, and presses a passing kiss to your temple.

Or maybe it’s a random Saturday evening, and he has nothing on his agenda. He’s doing what he does during resting periods, not resting, when he hears you moving about in the kitchen.

For a while, he’s content with that— the simple sounds of you being near, a reminder that you’re there. Then, without a sound, he appears in the doorway as the TV hums in the background, a distant murmur. His laptop and work were forgotten.

You’re caught off guard when he peeks over your shoulder to see what’s cooking in the pan.

“Sae?”

He doesn’t respond and merely glances at you from the periphery of his vision, shrugging before he pulls out a barstool and grabs his phone. He settles into the kitchen, preferring to be closeby while you cook or bake.

On nights after long games and yet another win, the front door clicks open, soon followed by the shower spraying. When he finally settles into bed in nothing but boxers, a low hum draws out in relief as he feels your skin against his own, bare and warm. He lays there, watching you from his side of the bed, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek.

“Beautiful” he says softly but aloud, and you hear it. You always do, just before you drift off to sleep. You’re happy, knowing you’re loved by the man beside you.

Thus, the passion beneath his exterior easily seeps through if given time— and time, your relationship had been built upon.

Itoshi Sae, who doesn’t kiss you often, takes every time he does with utmost seriousness! There is nothing more important to him than proving to you that he wants you, he loves you, and he is yours. He will always be yours.

For a peck could leave you breathless and lightheaded, but a kiss— his kiss— could unravel you piece by piece, leaving you vulnerable to everything he promised.

You look forward to every meeting of your lips, and Sae, little by little grows obsessed. Fearing one day, he may not want to leave your lips alone, because already he finds himself losing to the pull of it.

But no matter how often or rarely it happens, whether a little or much more, each kiss is special— and so it shall remain.

All rights reserved | Copyright @readerforexiao 2024 | Do not copy, steal, or repost to any other platform 🧡

[1800titz]

DOG TEETH | ABO dynamics

alpha/omega au

(Always had an affinity for taking mutts home, you, even if they growled and bit.)

> alpha!Harry, omega!reader, dom/sub undertones, praise & degradation, p in v 8K on patreon

(You remember when he warned you; starting things you couldn’t finish. See it through—)

The sentiment you’ve cradled in the space between your collarbones seeps out in the way your fingers tangle into the wry bed of curls at the nape of his neck. The undomesticated (wild in your spuming bloodstream, riling every nerve ending to kindle in the fire— a twisted paradox) urge to be owned. Claimed. Mated. See it through—

He cradles your wet gasp against the flats of his teeth, the gap between. Your tongue slinks out, lashes fluttering, and you bask in the way he brushes his own against it. 

It’s no jejune delicacy of a first kiss. 

The tentative, eggshell-daintiness of brushing lips— no, it’s all tongue, teeth, sloppy, slick. Your head tipping back with the fingers he snares into the hair at the base of your skull, the fist he wrenches your crown back by. Spit smearing against the corner of your mouth. Humid aphrodisia that settles in the trench of your tummy when he grips you under your jaw, thumb and middle finger denting into the fleshy margins of your hot cheeks. He smears his tongue against yours again.

It’s this— possessive, hungering— a triumph you’ve been chasing from that prepubescent past time. Giving home, in longing, the pooling bliss of your mettle unspooling under the way he pants into your mouth. 

(Nasty, nasty man— the kind you barely know, the kind you shouldn’t let suck on your tongue, never mind in the turbulent window of an incipient heat that’ll make your bones feel like they’re rotting in their sockets.)

“Yeah, that’s it,” you make out the crook of a smile in his words (lewd, coarse), liquified yearning, your eyes half-mast, “Filthy, little omega. Never imagined you’d be such a pretty whore.”

It’s vertiginous. Feral. Makes your world spin on its axis, because this exigency, swallowing you— need, need, need, fuck— is an all consuming rapture (when he sticks his fingers into your mouth— a bunched dyad, middle and forefinger— prying your head back with the heel of his palm still under your aching jaw).

“Sweet, little—“ you vaguely hear over the spindrift of blood in your ears— you don’t even recognize the wanton hum you grant him, tongue out— something that dies on his teeth, gets mottled by a growl (it stems from his chest, reverberates through the palm you still have on him, rocks your fizzing marrow). 

There’s no gentle, callow dubiety (you don’t expect it from him, anyhow) when he pins you, limbs out, on the bed two steps from the front door. Your need— that same, unbroken longing that pulsates in your joints— spills a mist over the aftermath (clothes peeling away, your heart stuttering in its caging, you nipples between his teeth). 

Up until the point where he nestles himself between your thighs, splayed, flat on his abdomen at the foot of the mattress. 

You watch him with a lust-ridden hypervigilance. Like this, with your thighs split, you can smell yourself from the headboard. Your leaking slick. It makes you desperate, gets your face crinkling, forehead scored in ruckles as your hips cant up. 

And Harry plants his hand onto your tummy, under your navel. A monstrous looking thing in sheer heft (cleaned as best as managed, knuckles bruised, split where aged scar tissue was battered back into gashing). The stark size of his hand against your soft underbelly— the way his thumb to his pinky, the shape, sits so perfectly between the verges of your pelvic bone, pressing you flat to the sheets— only makes you squirm more.

“Easy,” Harry purrs. Easy, girl— a luring croon in a dominion-rich tone that makes every atom in your body sing. If the fire rippling across your circuitry wasn’t drawing you into a delirium, surely you’d wear a frown at the smile over his mouth— the mocking. 

Even still, you think, it’d falter at the way he ducks his chin to stipple kisses to your mons, the faint dusting of hair there, eyes flickering up. The electric charge in his soft-spoken echo (instruction, gentle), “Easy, baby.” The, “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” His thumb prying you open, eyes winding, that clots your lungs.

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[heylittleriotact]

🕯️WIP WEDNESDAY 🕯️

I feel like I’m living in the stupidest simulation ever, and have no idea what to do except balm the agony of existence with shameless smut.

Fuck all the other WIPS - the soul yearns for plotless porn that I guess is a second part to Algor Mortis.

@aldisobey @caffeinatedmunchkin @emmg @xxnashiraxx and anyone else who has a WIP: I wanna seeeeee.

Under the cut for porn.

💚💚💚💚💚

It was before dawn when she found herself drawn from sleep. She might have closed her eyes and resumed her slumber had she not found herself completely discombobulated: confused at the feeling of the soft feather mattress beneath her and the surely offensive thread count of the smooth sheets that covered it. Her surroundings smelled unfamiliar, and the air was too dry.

It was pitch dark where she was, but that didn’t stop her from lifting her head from the pillow that was steeped in the memory of a wealthy but dead Tevinter woman’s perfume: a depressing and faint medley of stale florals and and bergamot blended into something cloying and powdery. It was the sort of perfume that judgmental old money wore purely because it was an old and very exclusive label. Whether or not it was a complimentary fragrance was secondary to the prestige of owning a bottle and dousing oneself with it to the point where no one within a mile radius could escape the stinky clutches of the pungent status symbol.

She swallowed past the fear and uncertainty that had tightened her throat and felt around in the dark, finding the grounding and familiar shape of Emmrich.

A trembling sigh of relief spilled from her lips and she instantly felt herself relax as her fingers danced along the shape of his bare abdomen, dipping into concaves and skimming over lines, trailing over the soft hair that grew under his navel and up over his sternum.

She didn’t need to see him to know the shape of him… to know every inch of his elegant, carefully groomed and diligently cared for body.

They had spoken of plans during their bath, and she had elaborated on a few of her own with the full intention of seeing them through until exhaustion had triumphed.

Unsatisfied with the unwanted interference in her carefully crafted designs for the beginning of their future together, she left Emmrich’s side, keeping her palm flat against the gentle rise and fall of his stomach.

Slipping across the sleek surface of the sheets as she moved down the bed, her thumb swept over the shape of his hip bone and she placed a row of little kisses just beneath the joint of his thigh, dawdling a lazy path on his soft skin until she reached his cock.

Soft, warm, and smelling faintly of the fragrant oils from their bath and his own natural musk, she nuzzled against him, burying her nose in the coarse, well maintained thatch of hair before gently drawing him into her mouth.

She loved feeling him expand in her mouth, filling her and brushing against her cheeks as she patiently coaxed him to attention.

Almost soothingly she stroked his lower belly as she swirled her tongue around his flaccid length, hollowing her cheeks and wrapping her other hand around his base to pull back his foreskin and impart a broad, firm lick to the underside of his head.

A groggy moan warbled through the darkness, and she smiled against him before using the tip of her tongue to collect the moisture that was already collecting at his tip - an action that wrought a sharp gasp of air through teeth she couldn’t see.

Filling her mouth with his rapidly hardening cock again until she felt her fingers bump against her lips, she sighed around him, revelling in the taste of him… the heat of him… the texture of his prominent veins against her tongue.

Long fingers twined into her hair and she drew back slowly, knowing the wet drag of her cheeks felt sinfully good in his increasingly aroused state.

He uttered a heady little sigh when she released him with a lewd ‘pop’, the vulgarity of the action exaggerated by their shared inability to see one another in the room that was as dark and still as a tomb.

She let a robust quantity of saliva drip from her partly open mouth onto his twitching cock, spreading it over him with a few lazy strokes.

Taking him in her mouth again, she eased him deeper still, spurred on by the symphony of gentle panting and whispered moans coming from the head of the bed. She stopped when she felt him hit the very back of her mouth, and swallowed around him before beginning to slowly bob her head on his cock.

With an enraptured hiss, the fingers in her hair loosened and disappeared, returning to tenderly sweep aside some that had fallen into her face.

“Good morning, darling,” he whispered over the sloppy squelching sounds of her pleasing him.

Moaning around him, she continued, picking up her pace, stroking him with her hand in rhythm with her mouth. She heard the soft ‘thump’ of his head falling back to the pillow and he offered her name up to the utter blackness like a prayer.

[pasukiyo]

LEECH.

| a collection of one-shots. collection masterlist.

DISCLAIMER: this fic is simply a work of fiction and is in no way, shape, or form claiming to be a reflection of how leon kennedy is canonically portrayed as a character. this is an au, meaning it is an alternate reality written for fun, so please heed this warning and keep it in mind while you read.

— to join the taglist, follow the link here and choose “leon kennedy” in the character list.

collection songbook

leon kennedy x fem!reader word count; 1,656 warnings; leon is a stalker, leon's also a bit of a loser!, themes of dark!leon, allusions to smut, mentions of oral (m & f receiving) summary; letting her go was easily the biggest mistake leon has ever made, and he's made more than he can count. so when he finds her again, he vows she’ll be the one thing he clings to, like a leech in skin.

 Leon never had a place to call his own, but he did have a home, once. 

 Home was a girl, home was a medic who, by patching him up that first time in the training grounds, prompted a rumbling from deep within his belly for a hunger he’d never had before, making him yearn for something constant, something domestic, something normal. 

 Because Leon Kennedy’s life was far from it. Years of being in all the wrong places at all the wrong times made certain of that. There was nothing normal about him to begin with anyways, even before that shitshow of a first day on duty at R.P.D..

 Although not many tried, many failed to truly understand Leon Kennedy. Before there was a top secret government agent, there was a cop and before there was a cop, there was a teenager and before there was a teenager there was just a child, mourning the loss of parents he never got the chance to really know. 

 But that was all just the surface-level shit. 

 Everyone, at least on a business standpoint, knew about Leon’s past, why he was so eager to be an officer in the first place. But no one gave a shit about the in between. Nobody really cared for who Leon Kennedy was at his core, beneath all the blood, sweat, gore, and tears. 

 Nobody did— except for her. 

 Leon’s home once looked at him with a tenderness so devastating, it was like its own cataclysmic event. Every time she looked at him with eyes so warm like a crackling fire in the hearth on a cold, winter night, eyebrows pinched and brow furrowed, it was like the Earth was collapsing around him. The world was caving in and Leon didn’t care because all he could see was her: listening to him, eager to know more, wanting to help him. 

 He could still see her eyes every night when he closed his and he could still hear her voice, her breathing, the little sounds she made in those moments they shared when they burned the brightest. His skin still buzzed where her lips once touched him, although each day that passed by, the burn her kiss left upon his flesh gradually faded, so faint now, he was holding on to cinders. Leon would toss and turn in whatever bed he ended up in every night, willing the memory of their last night together back to the forefront of his brain, clinging on to the dying embers left in her lips’ wake. 

 Her kiss felt fainter tonight than it ever had before. 

 The feeling was nearly painful. 

 Leon ripped the thin duvet off of his body, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress that was more like a box spring than anything. The motel room he’d ended up in after the last mission was small, the walls were yellow with grime, the curtains over the window thin and ripped, allowing the orange light from the lamppost outside to spill in. There were small, dark ovals on the floor in the corner that were surely cockroaches, but Leon didn’t spare them a second glance as he zipped up his jeans— he’d slept in far worse places than this. 

 He tugged on the sheepskin leather jacket that had since been draped over the top of the withering dresser, stepping into his boots and bending at the waist from the edge of the mattress to lace them up. The alarm on the nightstand read 4:00 in big, red numbers that blinked after him as he stuffed his room key into his pocket, slipping out the door. 

 The air was cold and fog rolled in the low-lit parking lot, curls of smoky air visible in the lamplight. Leon could see his breath in misty clouds with each step he took and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, disappearing into the fog. 

 She haunted his reverie as if she were a parasite, a sickness he couldn’t heal from. He still saw her the day she told him she was leaving, still felt the bile that bubbled in his throat, still saw the tears that fell in droplets of rain down her cheeks. He still felt the weight of the words he’d said, still remembered her shaking her head, could still hear her voice curling around his ears like a ghostly whisper, saying “you have to let me go.”

 He watched her walk away, let her go as she asked then, and perhaps, Leon should’ve tried to move on. Perhaps he should’ve let her go as she had asked, should’ve pushed himself harder in training, pushed himself harder in his missions so that maybe he could have forgotten her. 

 But he was still right where she left him. 

 Ever since she left, he’d been stuck as if he were in a time loop, reliving the day he let her walk away from him over and over again like it was some form of punishment, his own personal hell. He’d spent damn near every second that passed after that day trying to claw his way back to her, hanging on tooth and nail. He had to ask through virtually the entire medical team until he finally, finally found her. 

 He told himself he wouldn’t do this, told himself he’d wait until the morning where he could show up at her door, properly knock and engage in conversation. He tried desperately to resist the ache he now yielded to. 

 The place was caught in between a shithole and adequacy. It was a hell of a lot better than a vast majority of the places Leon had slept, at least. His footsteps echoed through the hallway as he neared her door, Room 210. He fished for his pocket knife in the front pocket of his jeans, unsheathing the switchblade before glancing around the hall. 

 Empty. 

 He leaned down to the lock and slowly, as to not make any more noise than necessary, inserted the blade, inch by inch until the tip reached the end. He twisted the hilt until there was a click, steadily sliding the knife back out and switching it closed, tucking it safely away back in his pocket. 

 The knob was cool against his fingertips as he twisted it, carefully pushing open the door, grimacing when it squeaked. He stepped inside the dark apartment, the shadows embracing him as if he were an old friend. Once he’d managed to close the door, he crept his way through the apartment, between half unpacked moving boxes and furniture. 

 The walls were bare for the most part, save for a painting above the television in the living room. Leon couldn’t quite discern what it was in the darkness, but through the sliver in the door beside it, he could just make out the shape of a footboard. 

 His heart pounded against his chest as he inched towards the bedroom door, palms against the wood, cautiously pushing open just enough to allow his body to slither through. 

 And there she was. 

 Leon’s home was a woman buried beneath the covers, turned on her side with an arm folded beneath her pillow. Home was the woman deep in slumber, lashes flush to her cheeks, oblivious to the man standing at her bedside. 

 Leon drew in a deep breath as he kneeled beside her, his fingers just itching to wipe the loose strand of hair away from her face. It’d been so long since the last time he’d seen her in the flesh and he’d counted down those long, agonizing days that eventually led him to this moment. The days were long and hard but finally, he’d made his way back to her. 

 The lips that used to kiss his, that used to part when she gasped, that wrapped around his cock when his fingers were woven through her hair were now pressed together in a line. The chest he’d sometimes lay on at night, the chest he’d knead in either of his palms, the chest he’d leave his marks upon rose and fell with her every breath. He wondered if any of his marks still tainted her skin, or if the time they’d spent apart had been enough to fade them away. 

 The eyes that still haunted him, even in this moment, were closed but still, their hue was forever ingrained in his memory. Leon’s fingers twitched as he raised a hand towards her face, shivering as he brushed the backs of his knuckles delicately across her cheek, the pad of his thumb just barely soothing over one of her closed eyelids. He swiped the loose strand of hair away from his face gently, the tip of his forefinger delicately tracing the curve of her ear. 

 The skin he’d been craving and yearning to touch was warm, a stark contrast from the cool of his own. Memories of nights that had passed with his arms wrapped around her naked body, with her breasts against his chest, their legs intertwined flashed in his mind. Memories of his palms soothing up and down her waist, his hands between the soft flesh of her thighs, his lips against her center made his mouth part in a gasp. 

 How he longed to shake her awake, to look in her eyes, to feel her again. How he longed to tangle his fingers up in her hair and push her lips against his in a searing kiss that would forever scar him but feel so damn good all the while. 

 But he wouldn’t wake her, not now. 

 For tonight, he’d settle on the fact that he’d found her, that he could see her once again. Seeing her again set that old flame in the pit of his belly ablaze once more, fueling that craving he had for something constant, something domestic, something normal. 

 Normalcy was hard, his line of work made certain of that. Nobody normal had seen the amount of shit he had, nor had the amount of blood on his hands that tainted his. Normalcy was practically a myth, normalcy sounded more outrageous than the outrageous did to him. 

 Normalcy may have been out of reach before, yes, but now— now it felt closer than ever. If becoming a leech, a blood-sucking parasite with its teeth sunken deep into skin was what he had to do to achieve it, then so be it. He was so tired of letting everything he’d ever wanted slip out of his reach— so when he sunk down onto the floor with his back against the wall, gaze still fixed on the woman slumbering upon the bed, he vowed to let this be the one thing he cling to. 

a/n; SO... SURPRISE! i got the idea for this while driving to work this past tuesday morning and couldn't stop thinking about it my entire shift lol i'm really excited to write more for this collection, so stay tuned for further one-shots! i just ask for your patience-- i'm a college student with a job! :) anyways, i hope you all enjoyed this little introduction to the collection :)

❕❕the next fic in the collection will be posted april 14th at 3 pm cst

💿 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the entire world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

@corruptcoder @chaoticevilbakugo @luckypurins @glovesandhorror @xoxostarlet @illsksm @echo1200 @d3adp00ls @woahhajime @leonkennedygvrl

[copinghex]

Fool's gold | T.S

Summary: Eleanor welcomes Tommy back home, but the man who returns isn't the same who left.

A/N: For Christmas, I decided to gift myself bringing Eleanor back :) Is this a series? I'd rather say no. It is shaped like one, but it's totally up to my brain if it's continued or not and we know how it's like. Anyway, I hope you like it!!

NEXT CHAPTER

Chapter 1: Lots of love, Thomas Shelby.

Eleanor woke up in a bedroom that wasn't hers. Looking superficially, anyone would guess the room belonged to a woman, her hygiene products, make-up and clothes occupied the room while her thin body rested on the bed.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and heavily sighing. That day, the bedroom's owner would return, the coldness of his last letter haunted her. If he couldn’t say he missed her, he surely wouldn't want her in his house.

Walking to the small mirror in the wall, she ran a hand through her messy hair, usually she made a braid before sleep, moisturizing with cream borrowed from Polly so the curls would look nice in the morning. Last night she didn't have a mind for it.

All she thought about were the things she wanted to do to him, kiss him, hold him, cook for him, talk to him or just watch him from close. After so long apart, she yearned to feel his warmth again.

Peeking at the bed table, at an old picture they took together, Eleanor gulped, his signature was simple yet tender. Lots of love, Thomas Shelby, she feared the Thomas to return wouldn't hold such fondness of her.

Changing off her nightgown, she grouped all her belongings into a corner to make it less obvious that she took over his room. The bed was perfectly made and she sprinkled some of his cologne at the mattress so it'd smell like him, although mostly smelled like alcohol.

Before she entered the kitchen, incessant talking was heard, Katie, Maria, George and Pearl chattered over every single aspect of their young lives. Sat still, Ada sipped on her tea, ignoring John's horde of children.

“Morning,” Eleanor watched today's newspaper burning in the fireplace, “where's Polly?”

“Praying,” Ada filled her mouth with bread, “and Finn isn't up yet,”

Eleanor quietly huffed, in the first months of war she accompanied Polly in her morning prayers, as time went by and the radio announced ten thousand men died per day, she lost faith God would actually help those poor souls, seeing old colleagues wearing all black in the streets didn't help either.

The scent of herbal tea traveled to her nostrils as she poured herself a cup. She missed the coffee Tommy made when she stayed for the night, she slept almost on top of him, using his chest to support a book. Tommy enjoyed Wuthering heights, Pride and prejudice not so much.

In the next minute, she stood next to Polly in the living room, in respectful silence until the prayers were done, “You shouldn't have stopped, you used to smile more,”

Eleanor blinked, she wasn't an atheist, their prayers weren't insignificant poems told to the walls, she believed they were purposely ignored, “What will we do today?”

“The whole Small Heath will be at the station, so will we,”

“I thought, maybe we should make a special dinner, or get something expensive from the Garrison,”

Polly's eyes drifted away while she considered the idea, lately she spent so long at the betting shop she almost forgot how to welcome men home. Her days as bookmaker were counted and warming up to chores again wouldn’t do harm, even if she’d never be fully a housewife.

“They’ll be back around three, if I clean, can you cook?”

With agreeable nods, they went to the kitchen. Six hours later, the house was spotless and the table set. Each woman was in a bedroom, making themselves presentable.

Some colognes were overpriced even if destined for the working class, Eleanor had one of these, eight crochet coats had to be sold until she had enough money to buy it, her hands nearly fell off during crafting, but it was worthy, because she got a compliment every time she wore it.

In her best dress, shoes and hat, she didn’t feel alright, she wasn’t going to a party or a fancy social occasion, she’d meet Tommy and his brothers. Biting her lip in anxiety, she changed into a white dress and red wool coat matching her shoes. She felt better looking clean and proper, not a beauty queen from a magazine.

The walk to the train station was fast and silent, the children had to be held tightly by the hand so they wouldn’t run ahead. Many families still waited for their soldiers, all benches were full and Ada’s feet hurt from standing in such high heels.

The first to show up was John, he didn’t have time to approach the family since his children found him first, shouting and running through the crowd to catch him in a big hug. Arthur and Tommy showed up together, walking slowly in their worn out uniforms.

Arthur got his aunt and sister on each arm, leaving Eleanor to Tommy. There he stood, his once warm eyes looked hollow, combative even, his freckled face covered by a layer of sweat and his hair slighly disheveled, although combed with gel.

Breathing heavily, her body froze, shook and threw itself at him. Both arms wrapped around his neck, Tommy’s hands rested on the small of her back, he held her like she was the last floater in a shipwreck, an essential survival item, she held him like a porcelain vase, a fragile ornament she feared to break.

Tears from her eyes were immediately reprimanded, she breathed in and out at slow pace, brushing her face on his shoulder, it was a happy occasion, she’d hate to ruin it with pointless crying. Her hands ran up and down his back, some of the ribs that could previously be felt were replaced by strong muscle and when she finally lifted her head, Tommy's eyes held something she couldn't quite point out.

Eleanor cupped his face, tracing his cheekbones and the wrinkles around his eyes, he looked exhausted and yet, still dashingly handsome, a weak smile got to her face as she felt her increasing heartbeat, after all this time, being face to face with him still gave her butterflies.

At last, she gently pecked his lips, Tommy barely moved, closing his eyes and letting himself be kissed. His hands hadn't moved from her back yet and only did when John called for them, “Oi! Lovebirds! Keep it until we're home, yeah?”

Turning around, Eleanor bit her bottom lip to suppress a big smile, “And how is my favorite corporal going?”

It was hard to hug John with a kid still holding onto his leg, but it didn't stop him from lifting her up. Laughing, she didn't notice Tommy squinting his eyes, John quickly put her back down, awkwardly squeezing her shoulder.

“And you?” she asked Arthur, “No hug for me?”

“Yeah, how are you, sister?” Arthur's chin rested on top of her head while his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Alright,” Polly said, her eye make-up smudged, “let's go home now,”

Eleanor ran to hold Tommy's hand. Walking behind the rest, tension formed between them, as if they had nothing left to say, there were no words for the hole in her chest that only his presence filled, nor for the piece of his brain the war had rotten.

“Tommy!” someone called, the whole family looked back and Ada ran ahead to Freddie Thorne's arms.

Tommy stopped, dropping Eleanor's hand and waiting until Freddie approached with Ada on his arm, “Didn't see you in the train,”

“Got into a distant wagon,”

“Yeah,” he eyed Eleanor, “I remember you, it's- Hm-”

“Eleanor, I'm glad to see you're alright,”

“You should have dinner with us, I'm sure there's enough for everyone,” Ada suggested to Freddie.

“Oh, there are some comrades waiting for me at the Black Swan, we'll drink a last one all together,” he dismissed, “join us, Tommy?”

“Yeah, of course,”

Freddie affectionately patted Ada's head before walking away, Tommy didn't bother looking back. There Eleanor stood, trembling lips and watery eyes.

He didn't come back to dinner and she only saw him again the next morning.

[ohmaerieme]

through dreams

super paper mario oneshot " the chaos heart, gone for all but one connection to the world, seeks out its last tether in his dreams. " 694 words.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57469414

.

..

…

Exhaustion seeps through his bones when he finally falls unto his mattress, darkness of sleep quickly swimming behind his eyelids.

It’s the kind of exhaustion that’s clung to him since he awoke from that strange blacking out at Dimentio’s- and how the name sends shivers to his spine- beck and call. An attempt to weaken the good guys and give himself a winning chance, Luigi assumes.

But he dwells on that no longer- a smile graces his lips as he succumbs to sleep, never more grateful for a bed and a moon to shine through the window than ever.

Tomorrow he and his brother will go to Peach’s castle, enjoy a celebratory cake, and enjoy the lovely, lovely calm after such a storm.

But for now, tonight, he lets himself dream slowly and steadily- a treat after being left unconscious so many times through their journey.

His blanket softer than ever, his pillow plush and comfy, Luigi easily falls into a deep sleep.

…

..

.

Luigi opens his eyes to a darkness that seeps into his veins, wraps around his lungs and whispers around his frantically beating heart. 

The once-comforting pull of a deep sleep now heavy in his bones makes him panic, weighing him down to the frightening presence.

What he sees around him are hues of blacks and grays, pulsing about his vision- alive. It dances about, smooth as water and heavy as rain.

But something about the way his vision swims, the manner of this heaviness he feels, the crawling of the darkness around him… It’s familiar, in a way, and he cannot shake the feeling he’s had this dream before. And he is dreaming, he knows this to be true, just as he knows he cannot breathe here, nor can he move.

The presence does not speak. It cannot, for it has no shape, no form to mouth words- but it feels. And Luigi feels it too, bleeding into him. It sings of return, ripples through the darkness that echo within his own heart.

You are limitless, it hurries to say, in incomprehensible words. As am I.

“Nightmare,” Luigi tries to whisper out, reminding himself. His voice reaches no one's ears but his own.

I am no nightmare, it denies. I have ceased to exist. All but for one tether.

The darkness stretches, the infinite space Luigi’s found himself in feeling cramped, as if held tightly together in a little box.

A flicker of white sprints through the darkness, and as his eyes follow it, he takes sight of his hands, laid against his sides. His body is swallowed by shadow, but one thing stands out starkly in the nothingness.

His hands are gloved in black, white stitching its edges and little stars dangling from the sleeves of them. A ringing sound burns through his head, the creeping imagery of a plant of all things itching at his skull.

He wrenches his gaze upwards, the dark curiously watching all around him. This dream will pass, as all dreams do. He just has to wake up.

Wake up, the emptiness echoes, almost mockingly. Its swaying hues of night almost emulate familiar laughter.

.

..

…

It happens again, as the nights pass, though far and few between.

Yet each time, as he awakens, his eyes itch with a phantom sensation whilst a dark reality swarms his dreams.

It scares him, most nights, when he lays there in the moonlit room.

But now and then, as he feels the tingling sensation with the numbness leaving his body, something physical and yearning tugs at his chest. It is an alien feeling; it’s a parasitic want. And as the emptiness visits him amidst his slumber, so do fractured memories of the raw, yet miniscule, taste of its power in his puppeteered hands.

(It whispers in his ears, silent as its wordless meaning echoes through his head. It hums to him, time and time again, a sad display. You don’t know, it mourns.)

(But Luigi forgets the words it speaks the minute he wakes up.)

It happens again, and again; it happens when he lets his guard down the most. And he thinks it knows that.

…

..

.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Fade Into You

A particularly bad day leaves y/n yearning for nothing other than the comfort of her boyfriend, Danny. Without question, he comes to the rescue where need be and makes sure she knows just how loved she is. With his help, she begins to see that bad days don’t last forever, especially with a boyfriend like him by her side.

listen while reading: fade into you - mazzy star

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: not too much for this one! bad day angst, mentions of depression/anxiety, swearing, smidgen of drinking, mostly just fluff!! sorry if i miss any!

hey, so this is a short little draft i kind of rewrote today. no smut in this one, just fluff. I’ve been having a particularly rough time the last few days, so it’s kind of a pick-me-up, i guess. boyfriend danny fucks me up fr. drew some inspo from one of my fav sad songs, cause it’s got such a variety of interpretations. also this is very poorly edited and probably not the best, so please forgive me. as always, hope you enjoy, please be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🫶🏻

~

The morning came like a river of discomfort. When your eyes focused for the first time after a long nights rest, you were met with an empty space next to you in bed. The sight sent a wave of disappointment washing over you. Many mornings ago, you’d become certain that there was no better sight than waking to your boyfriend sleeping soundly. Days where he was gone before you were always miserable, and this one was shaping up to be as such. You didn’t have time to dwell on his absence; the next thing to catch your attention was the sun shining just a little too brightly in the sky. Once you clued in to the unusual scene, a jolt of panic ran through you. You you reached for your phone to check the time, but you were quite aware of what you were going to discover. While your thumb prodded the screen, trying to awaken it, you were already swinging your legs over the side of the mattress to get up.

Your screen displayed the time as 8:30; an hour later than you were supposed to be waking up. Your alarm hadn’t gone off, and you only had a half an hour to get ready and drive to work. There was enough time to brush your teeth and wash your face, and in your rush, you managed to make a big enough cup of coffee to get you started in lieu of breakfast. As hungry as you were, you knew you’d need the caffeine more than anything. By the time you were out the door, you had maybe ten minutes to get to your job, and even that was a generous time frame. It was a miserable way to start a Friday, you concluded. No joy for the weekend was present, just annoyance at how the morning had begun.

The drive was a blur; you pushed the boundaries of the speed limit the entire time, laser focused on the clock as if your staring would change the time. Between slow drivers and stop lights, there was no way you could avoid being late. When you pulled into your parking spot, the vehicle was barely in park before you were gathering your things and jumping out. In reality, you weren’t dramatically late, but you knew your boss all too well to think you could get away with missing even a few minutes of work. As you placed your items on your desk, your worry was solidified when your name was called from the door of your office.

“Y/n, you know we don’t tolerate this kind of behaviour.” He said, a disapproving tone very apparent.

“I know, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” You said, logging into your computer as you sat down.

“Next time I’ll have to write it up. I’ll let you go with a warning.”

“Thank you.” You looked up over your laptop, managing a small smile.

“I don’t want to have to dock your pay, but I will if this becomes a regular issue.” He explained, leaving you to sit with the information. He closed the door behind him as he walked out.

“Dick,” you mumbled, taking a sip out of your mug.

They morning dragged on without much interruption, filled mostly with mind-numbing reports and the occasional email filtering through your inbox. You couldn’t seem to shake yourself from the poor mood, finding it growing worse with each second that passed. By the time noon rolled around, you were all but focused on work, and your stomach was begging you for a bite to eat. You grabbed your phone and keys, making your way outside for a minute of freedom. You hoped the hour would allow you to rid yourself of the cloud of darkness that was looming over your head.

You climbed into your car and checked your phone, but you were met with another staggering disappointment. No text messages were received from the one person you’d hoped to hear from, so you clicked on his contact. Instead of waiting on a word from him, you called him, first. The phone rang for a moment, leaving you wondering if he was going to answer. As you listened to the dial tone, anxiety bubbled in your chest, fearing that you were interrupting something important. Just as you were getting ready to hang up, his cheery voice filled the stale air.

“Hi, beautiful.” Danny greeted. You could hear the smile in his words. His cheery tone eased your worry of him not wanting to talk to you. As ridiculous as the fear was, your brain wouldn’t give it up. You were constantly nervous that you were interrupting, or being a burden, and days like this one only made your brain scream it even louder.

“Hi,” You sighed, feeling your lips upturn into a little grin. It was the first time you’d done anything but frown all day. You slipped your car keys into the ignition, allowing your call to connect to the Bluetooth feature. “I miss you.” You said, unable to hold the confession back.

“I miss you,” He replied, sincerity dripping from his tone. “You okay?” He knew you well enough to tell your mood just from the tone of voice. He was nothing if not attentive, and always willing to listen if you wanted to air out your thoughts.

“No.” You were honest. “I was late to work. Slept in.” You explained as you pulled out of the parking lot. He knew all too well how you felt about your boss, not needing to ask about his reaction. “I think it’s just another one of those days,” you mumbled. He gave a hum of understanding, also aware of how much your bad days could affect you. “Any chance you can meet me for lunch? I know it’s a long shot, but I could really use a hug.” You felt guilty for even asking, but you couldn’t help it. He was your comfort person, and he always seemed to make the bad feelings go away.

“I’m sorry, baby. I would if I could, but we’re at the studio right now. We have a meeting right after we finish up, too.” He sounded sad for having to turn you down, almost making you feel even worse for asking. You hated when was upset, and knowing that he was upset on behalf of how you were feeling didn’t make it any better.

“That’s okay,” you knew it was a big ask, and you also knew he would absolutely be on his way if the situation allowed it. “I’m okay with just hearing your voice.”

“Promise I’ll make it up to you tonight?” He asked, hopeful.

“Don’t have to make it up to me.” You laughed. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll bring home dinner, and we can do whatever you want.” He told you, not willing to bargain.

“Okay.” You conceded, pulling into a cafe you frequented.

“I’m sorry I was gone before you woke up. We wanted to get here early so we could get as much done as possible.”

“I know, you don’t have to apologize, baby.” You repeated your earlier reassurance, hating the fact that he always felt like he had to apologize, even when there was nothing to apologize for. You never wanted him to feel remorseful over things he couldn’t control. He put so much effort into you and your happiness, but for some reason it seemed like he felt the need to give even more. “As long as I get you all to myself tonight, I don’t care.” You parked, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“You can always have that, bug. I’m all yours, remember?” He assured you. You smiled at the words, eternally grateful to have someone as kind as him.

“I’m gonna go eat, I won’t keep you any longer. I love you.”

“I love you, baby. I can’t wait to see you later.” The sincerity was thick in his tone, wanting you to know he meant it. “I hope your afternoon goes better than the morning.”

“I can’t wait either, and I hope you have a good day, too.” You smiled. You two uttered a small goodbye, ending the call without another word.

You went into the small shop, thankful for the short line. You gazed up at the menu, pondering what to get. As you stared, your mind drifted off to the boy you’d just been on the phone with. He was your rock, your best friend, and the love of your life; the only thing that gave you true motivation to get through the shitty days. The bad days didn’t come often, but when they did, they were horrid. It was never a just minor incident that caused a disturbance, it always seemed to be written in the stars that everything that could go bad, went badly. When the cashier called you over to order, you settled on another coffee and a sandwich.

After you paid, you made sure to leave a nice tip, hoping that the universe would send some good karma back your way. You moved over to the waiting area, pulling your phone from your pocket to pass the time. When you clicked it on, you immediately relaxed at the sight of your screensaver. It was a picture Sam had sneakily taken of you and Danny; you were looking off in the distance, completely taken off guard when your boyfriend had snuck up behind you and pulled you into a hug. His lips were pressed to your cheek and you were caught in a shriek of laughter. It was your favourite photo to ever exist, and it always made your day better when you saw it.

You’d been dating Danny for a few years now, having moved in together just about a year prior. It had been nothing short of fantastic, aside from the times he was travelling for his career in music. The big home was a bit lonely without him, but you were more than happy to watch him live his dream. There was rarely an argument, and your life was completely filled with love. Still, that didn’t rid your life of days like today, where you couldn’t find it in yourself to see the brighter side of things. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the world that could. Bad days were normal, and everyone had them, but it always felt like yours were catastrophic. They were the type of bad days that made you want to crawl into bed and never leave, plagued with the kind of misery that ached all over and settled deep in your bones.

Danny was like a ray of light, the only aura that could penetrate the cloud of emotion you found yourself caught in. He was well aware he couldn’t solve the issues, but was completely content with just guiding you through it. He did a fantastic job, showering you with love and support. He always quick with positive affirmations in argument to your insecurities, and if words couldn’t help, he was happy to hold you all night if it meant you would feel better. He was beyond anything you ever could have hoped for in a partner, and you were incredibly lucky to have him. At the same time, it sucked that he was the only thing that could truly help you in your bad times, because that meant you had to suffer through until you could see his smiling face. You were sure now that he was aware of the mood you were in, he’d use every spare second of time to send you messages reminding you of how much he adored you.

The barista called your name for the order, catching your attention. You have a half-assed smile and a thank you, reaching out to grab your drink. When you wrapped your hands around it and pulled it towards you, the force from your fingers knocked the poorly secured lid off. The flimsy cardboard cup collapsed inwards, spilling the contents down the front of you. You hissed at the heat from the liquid, closing your eyes at the burning sensation. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” The barista blurted out, scrambling for napkins. She handed them across the counter and you grabbed them, dabbing at your clothes. Thankfully, they were black, so the liquid wouldn’t stain them.

“No, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.” You assured her.

“I should have checked the lid.” She sighed. “I’ll get you another one.” She told you before bustling away. You cleaned yourself up as best you could, knowing the thin paper napkins weren’t much of a help. You prayed you had a change of clothes in your car, but didn’t hold onto too much hope. You never seemed to have that type of luck in your life. When your replacement drink was safely in your hand, you mumbled another thank you and quickly bustled out the door to avoid any further embarrassment.

You scavenged your backseat for any other clothes, but you were quickly met with disappointment. You got in the drivers seat, fighting back tears, realizing that the day was not going to get any better. As you drove back to work, your skin was tingling with residual pain, and you wished for nothing more than to just go home. You walked back inside with your head down and your lunch in your hands, praying nobody would stop you and try to spark a conversation. When you got to your office, you closed the door behind you and collapsed into your chair, defeated from the days events. You noticed that your phone was vibrating in your pocket again, and your stomach was still growling with violent hunger.

As you began to eat, you read over the texts you’d received. The first was from Danny, telling you how much he loved you in addition to a plethora of hearts. The rest were from his bandmates, all along the same lines of them wishing you a good day and telling you they missed you. Danny had likely told them you were having a bad day, urging them to show you some love, too. They were nothing short of your best friends, and they always wanted to play a helping hand in making you feel better, so they obliged without issue. You replied to all of them as you ate, finding yourself giving a few genuine smiles at their uplifting words.

When your break finished, you returned to work with a steady eye on the time, praying for 5 o’clock to come faster. The afternoon dragged on much like the morning, still feeling like every minute was passing slower and slower. Eventually, when four thirty hit, you started to pack up your bag in anticipation to leave. Five minutes before your shift was through, you logged out of your accounts and gathered your things. Just as you were starting to shut your computer down, a knock sounded on your door. “Come in.” You called. Soon after, the door swung open and your boss appeared with a stack of files. You tried your best to push a smile out to cover up your grimace.

“It’s your turn to do the month-end report.” He said, placing the papers on your desk. You were certain you had done it not too long ago, leading you to believe this was his punishment for you coming in late. You sucked in a breath through your gritted teeth, nodding in response.

“Okay, I’ll get it done Monday.” You said, grabbing the files and placing them in your desk.

“Perfect. See you Monday at nine!” He made sure to emphasize the time before leaving you to yourself. You grumbled a slur of curses before locking your desk drawers and throwing your office keys in your purse. You stood, double checking that you had everything before heading out of the building.

It was raining, now. The grey clouds in the sky had a striking resemblance to your mood. You unlocked your car and threw your stuff on the passenger seat as you climbed in. When you turned the key in the ignition, the engine turned over, but didn’t start. You felt your stomach sink, immediately trying it once more, but you were met with the same result. You let your hand fall with force against the steering wheel, letting out a short-lived scream. The tears you managed to hold back earlier made their way out with a new found force. You fell back into the seat, closing your eyes while you tried to regain yourself.

After a moment, you pulled out your phone and called Danny again. This time, he answered much faster. “Hey, baby, you on your way home?”

“No,” you tried to keep your voice steady, but he could tell you were crying just from the single word.

“What’s wrong?”

“Car won’t start.” You mumbled. “Think the battery’s dead.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m on my way home, not far from you, actually. I think I have some cables in the back.” He explained. You let out a sigh of relief, wiping away tears. Although it was a pointless effort, because they were falling faster than you could keep up with. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” You sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you saying sorry for, bug?” You felt overwhelmed at his never-ending kindness, feeling deep down that you weren’t deserving of it.

“Making you stop, bothering you all day, being sad.” You gave a small, humourless chuckle as you listed the inconveniences.

“Don’t think any of that is deserving of an apology. Having to stop only means I get to see you, sooner. And, you haven’t been bothering me at all.” You could almost hear the frown in his voice, although his tone was comforting. “You never bother me. You’re my favourite thing in the whole world.”

“I just want to go home and go to bed.” You said, feeling another wave of sobs wash over you. You were distraught enough that you couldn’t even respond to his sweet words. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“I know, bug. I’m pulling in, now. Can you see me?” You looked to the entry of the parking lot, and sure enough, he was there. He pulled up beside you, giving you a goofy smile and a wave. You couldn’t help but laugh through the tears. The sight of him alone was enough to ease the hurt. He rolled his passenger window down, prompting you to roll yours down, too. He ended the call before he spoke. “Hello, beautiful. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hi,” you greeted, sending him a smile. He climbed out of his vehicle, walking over to your window. He reached in, immediately wiping the tears away from your face.

“No need to cry over a dead battery. Easy fix.” He assured you. He leaned in, giving you a quick kiss. You felt the dread fizzle away, immediately feeling better at the small gesture. “You smell like coffee.” He noted.

“Long story.” You sighed, taking in the sight of him. He was in a cut off t-shirt and jeans, and his hair was pulled back into a bun. He looked tired, but had a permanent smile stuck on his lips. He was gorgeous, even in the simplicity. You thought it would be impossible for someone to be more beautiful than him.

“Care to share?” He asked as he opened the back door of his car. He pulled out a set of jumper cables in triumph, turning to show you. His proud expression was adorable, sending a flood of warmth straight to your heart. His willingness to help was overwhelming in the best possible way. You’d never met someone who cared for you so much, let alone someone who seemed so happy to do so.

“Spilled my drink all over me at the cafe earlier.” You told him, watching him move to the hood of his car. He lifted it, propping it up. He walked over and did the same to yours.

“You’re supposed to drink it, not wear it, silly.” He made a lighthearted pass. “Did it burn you?”

“It hurt, but I don’t think it left any marks or anything. Don’t really feel it, now.” He connected the cables carefully, making sure they were on in the right spots.

“Well that’s good at least, bug. Try starting it now.” He took a step back. You turned the keys over, and the engine sputtered for a moment, but eventually started. You let out a sigh of relief. He removed the cables and threw them back in his car. You left yours running, but got out to join him. “See? Easy fix. Should charge itself on the drive home.” He hummed, holding his arms out to you. You practically fell into them, holding on to him as if your life depended on it. You didn’t care about the rain, just about finally being able to hug him. Everything felt okay when he was holding you. He placed a kiss on the top of your head, gently rubbing his palm over your back.

“You’re the best, Danny. Thank you so much.” You said, fully meaning it. He was the best, you were certain of it. “I love you.” You mumbled, words muffled due to your face being pressed into his chest.

“You’re welcome, baby. I love you, too.” He didn’t let you go until you were ready. Eventually you pulled back, looking up at him with nothing but adoration in your eyes. “I picked up dinner. Your favourite.” He gave a smile, reaching up and brushing your hair from your face. He cupped your cheek in his large hand, causing you to instinctively lean into the touch.

“You’re too good to me.” You closed your eyes, savouring the feeling of his skin on yours.

“As if,” he let out a playful scoff. “Get in, you’re gonna get sick if you stand out in the rain for too long.” He said. You gave a nod, reluctantly pulling back from him. He leaned down, giving you one last kiss before opening your car door for you. “I’ll see you at home.” He said as he closed the door behind you. “Drive safe.”

“You, too. Thank you again.” He waved you off, not willing to accept a thank you for such a small service. He waited for you to pull out and leave before getting back into his vehicle.

The drive home was much better than the rest of your day. Knowing you would get to spend the rest of the night alone with Danny was enough of a consolation for the days suffering. The idea alone was even able to put you in good spirits, finding yourself able to sing along with a few songs on the radio. When you reached your shared home, you parked and hopped out, eager to get inside and get your coffee-stained clothes off. You weren’t even in the house before Danny was driving in, too. You waited for him to join you, watching him as he collected his things. “You threw a hitch in my plan.” He laughed, peeking at you over the roof of his car. You raised an eyebrow as an inquiry. “My big romantic gesture relied on me being home before you.” He explained. You noticed a tinge of red plaster across his cheeks. He pulled out a bouquet of flowers and a little stuffed animal. A box of chocolates was hidden behind the bear, too.

“Danny,” You scolded, feeling your eyes brim with tears again. Although, they were happy ones, this time. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to, baby. It’s not much, but I hope it helps a little bit.” You walked over to him, straining a bit to place a kiss to his cheek. Even with your heels on, he was still a little too tall to reach. “You deserve it. I, uh, got your favourite wine, too. I figured it’s Friday, so…” the dreaded tears ran down your face again, making him nervous that he may have done the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, was it stupid? I just wanted to cheer you up.”

“No! No, I just… I appreciate you. You’re too good to me.” You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, trying to compose yourself again.

“I don’t think I could ever be too good to you. You deserve the world.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours.

“Thank you so much.” You said as he pulled away.

“You’re welcome, bug. Here,” he handed you the flowers and the bear. You took them, looking over them in gratitude. He grabbed the bag of takeout and the bottle of wine, closing the door with his foot. You both made your way inside, kicking your shoes off and going straight to the kitchen. He placed everything he was carrying on the table and grabbed the stuff from your hands. “Go take a shower, I’ll take care of everything else.” You gave him a soft smile, taking the opportunity to pull him into another hug.

“You’re the best.” You told him, making sure your poor mood didn’t cloud your appreciation.

“Only for you.” He whispered. You almost laughed at the statement.

“Whatever,” you pulled back, looking up at his smiling face. “You’re a ray of sunshine no matter where you go. You know that.”

“Yeah, but I shine the brightest for you.” He reminded. He lifted your chin with his index finger, leaning down for one more kiss before you left.

After you showered, you changed into one of Danny’s t-shirts and a pair of your most comfortable old pyjama pants that you’d word almost to destruction. When you joined him back downstairs, he’d put the flowers in a vase turned all of the lights off. In the living room, you could hear the soft hum of the record player. You followed the sound, seeing him sitting on the couch with the coffee table pulled close. The takeout containers were resting atop of it, with two glasses of wine accompanying them. He had changed, too, now only in a pair of sweatpants. His hair was still tied back, giving you a full view of his face. He’d even lit a few candles around the room, giving some low light after he’d closed the curtains. His lips upturned into a smile at the sight of you

“Come here,” he held his hand out to you. You obliged to his request with no hesitation, joining him on the couch. “Feel better?”

“Much,” You assured him.

“We’ve got the whole night to do whatever you want. We got what we needed done at the studio, today, so we have all day tomorrow, too.” Your heart warmed at his statement, realizing you could spend all day wrapped up in each other. You were eager to get as much time with him as possible, already preparing for the next time he’d have to go on tour.

You two ate in almost silence, enjoying the food and each others company. When you were both full, you took the takeout containers and stored the leftovers in the fridge. You returned and saw that Danny had readjusted himself on the couch, leaning into the arm with his legs strewn across it lengthwise. You changed the record before sitting down, finding home between his legs and resting your back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. You relaxed into his hold, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his shoulder. He snaked his hands under your shirt, letting them rest on your stomach. There was no hidden implication, just the desire to feel closer to you.

You slipped your hands on top of his, intertwining your fingers. After a moment, he leaned down, placing a kiss to your cheek. He kept his head down, resting his face on yours. You laughed at the action, leaning into him a bit more. The warmth of his skin felt nice on yours, inviting you into him even further. “I love you more than words, bug.” He hummed. The small things he did were worth more than the entire world, to you. His small gestures and loving words never left any room for doubt, and he loved you better than anyone that came before him. You were sure that nobody would come after him, either. You felt quite confident in saying he was the love of your life, and you’d be damned if you let him get away.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” You replied, feeling his arms squeeze you a little bit tighter.

“Bet you it’s not even close to how much I love you.” He smiled.

“I’m sorry my bad days get so bad.” You whispered. “I know it’s hard to deal with, and I know you’re too nice to tell me.”

“I don’t think you’re hard to deal with at all. I don’t know who made you believe that, because it’s always been a pleasure to love you, even on your bad days. Means you’re comfortable enough to show me all of you, and that’s what I want.” He explained. If it was possible to love him any more, at the sound of his words, you did. He always seemed to know exactly what to say. “You’re human. You’re allowed to be sad, or angry, or whatever you want to feel whenever you want to feel it. When I asked you to be my girlfriend, I didn’t just want to date you for the good times. That would be selfish. I signed up for all of it, the bad days, the sick days, the boring ones, and the really good ones. You take care of me when I’m grumpy, too.” You chuckled.

“As if you’re ever grumpy.”

“You take care of me in all sorts of ways. Don’t discredit yourself.” He said, loosening his grip and reaching over for his wine glass. “I don’t ever want you to feel guilty for being upset. Taking care of you is my favourite thing to do.” The conversation died down, and the wine was coming to an end, too. You were both slightly tipsy; your cheeks rosy and you were both growing more handsy by the second. With enough time, the fog of misery seemed to dissipate as well. It was part of his charm; just knowing he existed was enough to put a smile on your face. Danny was the exception to every bad mood and miserable day. His love was stronger than any horrible thought or emotion your brain could conspire, and it always seemed to chase them away.

You stood, making a move to change the record which had slowed to a stop. You flashed him a cover, silently asking for approval. He gave a hum of affirmation, appreciating your choice. You replaced the record that was already on with the new one, carefully slipping it back in its sleeve. You touched the needle to the vinyl, waiting a second for the music to start. When it did, Danny stood and walked over to you. He held out a hand, resulting in a quizzical look from you.

“Dance with me.” He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You rolled your eyes, but a smile was growing on your lips. You took his hand, allowing him to carefully twirl you around. He pulled you into him, his hand finding your hip. You brought your arms up to his neck, both of you swaying in time to the music.

“I can’t dance.” You giggled, but he already knew that.

“Me, either.” He laughed, but you knew that, too.

“Four left feet and a bottle of wine don’t mix, Danny.” You explained.

“What’s life without a little risk?” He asked, bracing his arm on your lower back as he pulled you into him and dipped you down towards the floor. You let out a chorus of giggles as he did so, having no fear that he would drop you. If there was one thing you knew about Danny, it was that he’d protect you with his life. If you were falling, he’d always catch you. If he couldn’t, he’d fall, too, just so you wouldn’t have to do it alone. He leaned down and kissed you, holding the position for a moment. He parted from you only slightly, just to give you a grin.

“How romantic.” You poked fun. “You trying to seduce me?”

“Depends,” he said “is it working?”

“Mmm, you’re almost there.” He leaned down, placing a kiss on your exposed neck. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, realizing that there was nothing that could compare. “Better.” He pulled you back upright, making sure you were steady on your feet. He guided your chin upwards with his finger and brought you into another kiss, one where the only thing he had to focus on was you. You let one of your hands fall on his bicep and the other on the back of his neck, bringing him impossibly closer. The wine was clouding your head, enhancing every touch. His hands fell to your hips, pulling you towards him once more. When you parted, you were both breathless and had stars dancing in your eyes.

You watched him for a moment, immersed in his aura. Even the air around him radiated with comfort. He was perfect. He was everything. Unfathomably caring, attentive, and more loving than you ever believed a person could be. You felt extremely blessed to be able to share your life with him, and you were eternally grateful to have someone who was so willing to love you, even when it didn’t serve him any benefit. “What are you thinking about?” He asked, hands still holding you close to him.

“You,” you admitted, giving him a small smile. “I’m always thinking about you.”

“That’s strange,” he hummed, looking quite pensive. “‘Cause I’m always thinking about you, too.”

“That is weird.” You agreed. “You think we should start dating, or something?” You asked, pretending to be bashful about the question.

“Yeah, I think that would be pretty cool.” He nodded. “Should we, like, hold hands or something?” He asked, as if the idea was blasphemous. You shrugged, eventually nodding back at him.

“That would be pretty cool,” you mimicked his statement. In response, he let one hand fall from your hip, extending it out to you. You slipped yours into his, intertwining your fingers. “I love you.” You whispered, a grin eating away at your face. The childish nature of the situation reflected on the purity of the adoration he had for you.

“I love you, bug.” He leaned down, placing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry you had a rough day.”

“It’s okay. You always make it better.” He wrapped his arm around you, holding you with all of the love he could muster within him.

“That’s all I want to do. I’d be more than alright if I spent the rest of my life making you happy.”

“You wouldn’t have to try very hard. Happy is the only thing I know how to feel, when I’m with you.” You laid your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes, completely overtaken with comfort. You were certain that if you got to spend the rest of your life loving him, it would be the happiest lifetime you could live.

[lightandheatao3]

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 8: The Story

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Chapter Summary: Spencer and Emily have a moment to talk.

Read chapter 8 on AO3 or under the cut. All comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated <3 I would love to know what you like about the story :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

It was strange how rapidly time had lost all sense of meaning. Days ceased to exist. Hours, minutes, none of it meant anything.These words had been repeated devoid of context or reference so many times they had become completely divorced from the concepts they represented.

He had come to conceptualize of time in the form of bags of fruit.

All that existed in the world was the intervals between fruit deliveries. Those dire stretches of waiting to see if the next thing to come through that door would be doom, or just another bag with too much citrus and not enough apples.

He never thought he would miss fruit again. In fact, he strongly suspected that after leaving the bunker (if they ever did), none of them would ever eat another piece of fresh fruit as long as they lived.

Yet here he was, longing for it.

Since waking up in the stripped bare and scrubbed clean bunker, the clock had stopped.

There had been no more fruit.

Not a single delivery by which to set their metaphorical watches.

Time was transmogrifying once again, warping to fit the shape of this new reality.

It was stretching thin like a long piece of thread. The longer the thread pulled, the hungrier they all got. Once the thread pulled taught and snapped… Well, he didn’t want to think too much about it.

He knew all the theory behind starvation. He did not want to apply this knowledge in practice.

After a week (a week? 14 bags of fruit) in the bunker, they had given up the idea of sleeping in shifts. For the sake of their own sanity, they had decided it was necessary to maintain a routine. Some bastardized semblance of night and day under the endless fluorescent light.

How strange to yearn for the sense of safety they had back then, before the gas. He vowed to never again think ‘it couldn’t be worse,’ because it could be. It always could be.

They had once again taken to sleeping in shifts.

Each of them was desperate to be alerted the very moment food was delivered through that horrid, immovable door. If it ever was again.

They wanted someone awake at all times to look for the trickle or gas from the vent. If it happened again while they were all asleep, they wouldn't be able to cobble together their makeshift masks and protect themselves in some small way.

None of them wanted to have what happened to him, happen to them.

His throat didn't hurt much anymore, at least. He wished he could say the same for his stomach.

It was himself and Emily that were on watch this time. The others slept on the far side of the room, away from the door. He sat nearer the door while Emily paced back and forth. It took a while for the others to fall still and slip into a deeper sleep. They were, understandably, not particularly relaxed.

The cold concrete floor didn’t make for a comfortable bed. Thin, crappy mattresses: Another luxury of days gone by that he found himself dreaming of.

At last, Emily stilled her pacing and looked across at their companions. They had both kept as silent as they could for…. Hours? Minutes? The time it takes for a partially eaten apple to turn an unappetizing brown?

Whatever criteria she had been looking for to assure herself they were in a deep enough sleep, she apparently saw it.

She sat beside him, knees pulled up to her chest, and spoke softly. The room was big enough you could scarcely hear a whisper from the other side even when you were trying, so there wasn’t much danger of bothering them.

“I’m going out of my mind,” she said urgently. “It feels so stupid to say it, as it’s clearly the least of our problems, but I am so bored I could tear my hair out.”

“I understand,” he said. “There are only so many games of mental chess I can play before I start mentally flipping the board.”

She snorted, then hushed herself with a sheepish glance at the others. He smiled.

They were silent again for a moment. It was kind of nice to have some time with her without the others watching. She was the only one who never made him feel pitied.

Soon, though, in as little time as it would take to peel an orange, something in the silence shifted.

He glanced over and saw her her eyes fixed on him, looking as if she had something she wanted to say.

He was tempted to cut her off before she had a chance. He was so sick of everyone trying to make him talk.

He sighed.

He was too tired and too hungry and too bored and too lonely.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

Her gaze softened. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

He stared at her, deliberately blank. “About what?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” she said, elbowing him in the ribs lightly.

He smirked. “No really, is there something specific on your mind? Something in particular about me that has you concerned? I wouldn't know.”

She punched him in the upper arm, this time not so lightly. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, do you know that?”

She shoved him and he shoved her back. He leaned his head against the wall with a soft laugh. For a moment they both just breathed.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about John Cooley?” asked Spencer. “He died a year and half ago and I didn’t even know.”

“Because I felt guilty and ashamed,” she admitted candidly. “And because you weren’t around for me to talk to. You haven’t been for a while now.”

He looked down at the floor. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said earnestly.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” she said. “Just… You know I’m not judging you, right? I’m worried about you, sure, but I don’t think any less of you. Even if you never get clean, I still love you.”

“I know,” he said softly. A beat. “Why? Why aren’t you judging? Everyone else is.”

She didn’t try to convince him otherwise. They both knew he was right. The others might love him, and a couple of them might try to convince him they weren't judging, but they couldn’t help it. It changed the way they saw him, and he understood why. It changed the way he saw himself.

After a while, Emily said, “I think you and I are alike in a lot of ways. I don’t have to tell you that I’ve made some self-destructive choices in my time. I think... I don’t know… I think I want people to know me? Really know me. But I only show them the parts I want them to see, never the full picture. Then, I feel hurt that they don’t really understand me even though I never gave them the chance. Sound familiar?”

He looked her up and down. He thought about all the times he resented them all for not understanding what he was struggling with. He thought about how much more he resented them when they tried to talk to him about it.

He nodded.

He asked: “What would you have done if I had come to you with this?”

“I would have tried to help you.”

“Help me stop using?”

She mused on that for a second. “Yes, but also helped you get whatever support you needed to address why you’re using in the first place,” she said evenly.

“And if I told you I didn’t want that?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. One of the others stirred for a moment but settled quickly. “I would have told you that you couldn’t work on cases anymore until you addressed the problem,” she admitted. “It’s not safe. You know that.”

He nodded again. “That's what I thought. That's also why I haven't come back to the BAU yet. I wasn't ready to choose. Being a profiler, or…” he left the other option unsaid.

“And now? Do you know what you want?”

“I want,” he said, “for all of us to get out of this bunker.”

“After that?”

He looked at her, wanting to reassure her. To give her some small ray of hope and promise her that he wanted to change. But she knew him too well and he respected her too much to pretend, so he said nothing.

The furrow of her brow informed him that she understood his silence all too well.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Spence, but… you know you’re not okay, right? I mean,” she gestured broadly at the room, “obviously none of us are okay. But aside from all this. Whether or not you choose to get help, you do recognize that this isn’t a good way to live?”

His stomach twisted. “I don’t know.” It's not as if his life had been better when he was clean. He didn’t want to think too much about it.

"Heroin, Spencer. You know the risks. I get it, it's more economical than medical grade pharmaceuticals. I bet a habit is hard to support while you're also paying for your mothers care, even on a salary like yours. It adds up." He wanted to yell at her to stop profiling him, to stop talking, but all he could do was look at his hands as he wound them together absently. She powered on, "It could be cut with anything. You can only be so careful."

"What do you want me to say?" he whispered.

“I don't know. I guess I just want to understand. Do you… do you want to die?”

He felt a jolt in his chest, as if he was falling. Her voice sounded small. Frightened. Desperately unlike the Emily Prentiss he knew.

“No,” he assured her. “I am not suicidal. I'm not John. You don't have to worry about that."

“Do you want to live?”

A beat.

Did he? Of course he did. Of course he wanted to live. “Yes,” he said, knowing immediately that it had taken him too long to say it.

She frowned. “One last one, and this might be the hard one,” she said. “Would you still want to live if you couldn’t get high anymore?”

A beat.

“I-” his breath hitched. “I don’t think this is really the time or the place for this conversation,” he said shortly, a lump forming in his throat.

A hand entangled itself in his and squeezed gently. He stared at the far wall, blinking back moisture that threatened to spill. After a few seconds, a head came to rest on his shoulder.

“Just promise me you won’t disappear on me when we get out of here. Let’s keep talking, even when neither of us have anything good to say,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes. When we get out. Maybe he could believe it if he just tried hard enough. “I promise.”

They sat together in silence for... a minute? An hour? The time it takes to eat half a bag of fruit?

His head was lolling down, eyes heavy, when Emily’s hushed voice jolted him back into alertness.

“So,” she started with a conspiratorial whisper, “would you really fuck Luke? Because you did not have to think about that answer at all.”

“Shut up,” he snapped back, burying his face in his hands. “It was just a game.”

She smiled wryly. “Do you like like him?” she goaded.

He laughed just a little too loud. Emily hushed him and he rushed to stifle it. They looked over to their sleeping friends. A couple of them stirred briefly but did not wake.

Spencer replied in a careful whisper, “No. You’re being childish.”

She narrowed her eyes, assessing him coolly. “But you would sleep with him, wouldn’t you?”

It wasn’t a question.

"Is it too late to go back to talking about my drug use?"

"Yep! We're talking about this now. Answer the question."

He didn’t know how to respond, so he just shrugged. Apparently, it was all the answer she needed. Her eyes widened.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed victoriously, followed instantly by slapping her hand over her mouth.

A series of groans emanated from across the room. Hotch was the fastest to his feet, followed by Derek, both looking at Emily questioningly, poised as if ready to fight.

“What do you know? What’s happening?” asked Derek, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” said Emily sheepishly while Spencer laughed at her. “I didn’t mean for that to be so loud. Everything is fine please go back to sleep,” she insisted.

“Too late for that,” said JJ, stretching her arms above her head and yawning.

“Did something happen?” asked Rossi. “Any new deliveries?”

“No,” said Emily to a room full of discouraged, gaunt faces. “Just Spencer and I talking shit."

“Oh yeah?” said Derek with a slanted smirk, glancing between Emily and Spencer. “What were you talking about that’s got you so worked up?”

Emily met Spencer’s eyes for a fraction of a second. He hoped it was enough for her to understand. This was not the setting in which he wanted to have that conversation.

“We were talking about the most trouble we ever got in at school,” she said without missing a beat. “I always knew Spencer was more of a troublemaker than he lets on.”

“Why am I not surprised?” said Derek with a laugh.

“Well, let’s hear it then,” prompted Rossi, still bleary eyed.

“It’s not that bad,” Spencer said, glad that Emily had provided a deflection he could work with so easily. “I was suspended one time in an otherwise exceptional academic career.”

“What could you have possibly done that was bad enough to make them suspend you? The positive media attention you must have been bringing the school would have been invaluable. I would have thought you could get away with anything," said JJ, her old public relations training never too far below the surface.

It was true. Prodigious geniuses could bring a lot of additional funding and opportunities for schools. That didn’t necessarily mean his teachers liked him or felt particularly protective of him.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he prefaced. “It was right before I graduated, after I’d received early admission from Cal Tech. There were some older kids at school who had given me a hard time for the past few years,” to put it mildly, “and since I was going to be leaving, I decided I may as well…” he waved his hand in the air, trying to conjure the right words.

“Fuck up their shit?” Derek supplied.

Spencer smiled. “Pretty much. Most of them were preparing for their final exams and I found out that they had paid to access answer keys for some of the tests. My plan was to find out who they were getting the answer keys from and swap out the documents with incorrect keys,” he explained.

“That is a very you approach to vengeance,” said Rossi.

“Unfortunately, it didn’t quite go to plan. I found out their source was from the high school that a friend of mine attended. When I asked my friend for help, he, uh, had some other ideas about how I should be getting back at them. He’d had some similar problems with kids at his own school, but he wasn’t graduating quite as early as me, so I think he was trying to get some vicarious catharsis, maybe.”

Hotch cocked his head. “Ethan,” he said, and Spencer’s stomach twisted. “I remember you talking about him.”

The others nodded in recognition. Emily tilted her head at him curiously. He was sure they all remembered him talking about Ethan, as it was followed very quickly by him absconding from his duties to go visit his old friend during the Ripper case in New Orleans.

“Yeah. Ethan wasn’t as, how should I say this? Reserved, as I was. He thought I should take more extreme measures and I might have let him talk me into it,” he said sheepishly.

“What did you do?” asked Emily, leaning in, apparently forgetting that she was pretending that she’d already heard this story right before waking the others.

Nobody seemed to notice. Or maybe they did, but just didn’t care.

“We- well, the plan was we were going to break into school at night and put, um…” he didn’t want to say it. “This is so embarrassing. We were going to put marijuana in their lockers and then tip off the principal to do a search.”

JJ gasped. “That is devious,” she said with mock indignation.

"Man, with everything you've told me about those assholes, they probably deserved a lot worse than that," said Derek, shaking his head.

“Weren’t you 12 when you graduated high school? How did you even know where to get pot?” asked Emily.

“I didn’t,” he clarified. “I mean, it's Vegas, so it wouldn't have been difficult, but Ethan was the one driving the whole thing. All he had to do was steal it from his father.”

“So how is it that two geniuses with a perfect plan and a thirst for vengeance manage to screw up badly enough to get suspended?” asked Derek, eyes brighter than Spencer had seen them since they had woken up after the gas.

“It would have gone off without a hitch. I was picking the padlocks; Ethan was keeping lookout. I was terrified the entire time, but honestly? It was exciting to feel like I was finally able to fight back. Unfortunately, Ethan hadn’t accounted for just how much of a bastard his father was.”

The others seemed surprised at Spencer describing someone in that way, let alone his friend's father. They wouldn’t be surprised if they had met the man. Spencer didn’t think of himself as a judgemental person, but bastard was a mild description of Ethan’s father.

Hotch grimaced. “I suspect I know where this is going.”

Of course he did. Ethan would like Hotch, he thought. The two of them had a lot in common despite their contrasting personalities.

“His father reported us to the police. I still don't know what he told them, but they caught us trespassing on school grounds after hours. We got lucky and heard them coming just in time to run for the bathroom and flush the remaining evidence. They didn’t think to do a sweep of the lockers and the boys who we were trying to set up certainly weren't going to report drugs in their lockers."

The memories came to him as they always did; crisp and clean as if it had all happened yesterday. Ethan was wearing a thick blue jumper even though it was warm out. The taller police officer was named Michael Diaz and he laughed when Spencer begged him not to tell his mom, then called her anyway.

"Oh god,” he breathed. He was surprised by the pang of shame that shot through his heart. “I was so afraid of what my mom was going to think. They were going to tell her that we were there to get high and I was scared she wouldn't believe me when I told her the truth,” he said tightly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t want her to think that I could be stupid enough to do something like that.”

The irony wasn’t lost on any of them. Suddenly, the story didn’t seem so funny.

It had seemed so obvious to him at that age. Right and wrong were as easy as asking himself, would this disappoint my mom?

He could tell them how the story ended.

Ethan willingly took the blame for everything before Spencer could say a word and got hit with a misdemeanor charge for trespassing. Thankfully, that was all they could prove. He was a juvenile first-time offender with a glowing academic record, so the case was dismissed, but that didn’t stop his father from beating the shit out of him for it.

Spencer’s mom didn’t pick up the phone when the police tried to call her, so officer Diaz drove him home. When the school sent a letter informing her that he was suspended, he tore it up and told her he was feeling too sick to go in. She never questioned it. She just seemed happy to have him home.

He could tell them all of that.

But he didn’t need to.

It was hard to look back at that 12 year old boy and imagine how he could become the kind of man who his mother would be ashamed of if she only knew the truth.

“Did you ever talk to your mom about what happened in Georgia? About everything that came after?” asked JJ gently.

“Of course not,” he answered quickly. “What good would that do?”

“It might make you feel better,” she offered. “I think she would understand.”

“She already worries about me so much. She’s not well. It wouldn’t help anything to worry her more.” She would probably forget it right after he told her, anyway. He sighed. “I hope someone’s checking in on her.”

“I’m sure Penelope is,” said Emily, setting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure the others are looking out for all of our families,” she said to the room. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but we’re going to be okay. You're going to see them again. I promise you; we’re going to make it out of this.”

Hotch nodded at her, a gesture of support. “Emily is right. I know we’re all exhausted and scared and hungry, but we know that there are people on the outside who are looking for us. We have to trust them to do their jobs.”

"It's not gonna matter much if we starve in here," said Derek ruefully.

“The thing about hunger,” said Rossi, “is that sooner than later it’s going to fuck with your head in ways you don’t expect. But it won’t last forever. It doesn’t fit the profile for her to starve us and if we're right about either her or her accomplice having medical training, then they won't let it go too far. As hard as it sounds, we have to try to keep morale up, and the best way to deal with hunger is distraction. So let’s cut it with the melancholy and find a way to keep ourselves entertained. Reid,” he said. Spencer stared at him questioningly. “Have you ever considered narrating an audiobook?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No?”

Audiobooks were not his preferred medium. He found them unbearably slow.

“Too bad. Because I think a good book is just what the situation calls for and as the only one of us with an eidetic memory, you’ve drawn the short straw.”

Spencer couldn’t help but crack a small smile, doing his best impression of a man who wasn't hollow inside. “As long as I get to choose the book.”

“Naturally.”

The thread of time stretched longer, pulled taught, crept ever closer to breaking. He hungered. It gnashed and gnawed, making his stomach turn and his forearm itch and he couldn't say for sure which hunger he would satisfy first if he had the choice.

But he pushed it down. In his mind, he ran his finger along a row of books in a vast library, and thought about what story would best bring them all a little comfort.

[ladyantiheroine]

Nocturnal Animals

Summary: The Bat and The Cat rarely sleep. But when they do, it's always each other that they see. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Selina Kyle x Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Explicit sexual content.

Word Count: 7.6k words

Tags: Wet dreams, angst, yearning, longing, sweet/hot, vaginal sex, riding, table sex.

Part I: The Bat

Gotham City. December 1. 2:33am. 

Whatever this place was, it was most certainly not Wayne Manor. Bruce’s eyes scanned the darkness, his vision adjusting and trying to see shapes or shadows. He thought that two years of nights would train his eyes to see in the dark. But even becoming a nocturnal creature did little to help him see.

The place around him certainly resembled his home. His bedroom with the tall, arching windows, a silk bed under his body, a snuffed fireplace in the corner, and a dark chandelier hanging from the ceiling. But something about it just felt… off. It felt like an eerie recreation of his room rather than the place he rested his head every night.

There was a rumble of thunder just beyond the windows. Rainwater trickled against the glass, plucking against the silence. A flash of lighting alighted the room, and in the brief burst of light, Bruce thought he saw something.

His body braces into flight or fight. His mind rushed whether to rush towards the door or clench his fist against whatever threat had entered his home, or whatever this place was that he’d found himself in. His eyes and ears perked.

A boom of thunder filled the room. 

And then, there was a voice.

“Bad storm out there,” it said. 

The voice was like ice water spilled down Bruce’s back. A shiver crawled up and down his spine. But the voice echoed in the chamber of his brain and rolled around until he realized it sounded familiar.

Bruce lifted onto his elbows and squinted into the dark. Moonlight fell through the windows onto the floor, and in the pale light, he caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette. She stepped closer into the light, her dark eyes glittering the dark.

Her name slipped from his lips.

“Selina.”

She gave him a small smile.

“Hey, Vengeance,” she said. “Missed me?”

She had no idea. Bruce found himself frozen to his bed, unable to move or avert his eyes away as Selina Kyle emerged from the shadows. She was half-hidden by darkness, but her voice, her elegant figure, her feline gaze boring into him, it was all undeniably hers. 

“How did you get in here?” he asked.

Even in the dark, he could see Selina give him a playful smile.

“You let me in, remember?” she said. “Don’t need to sneak in when you leave the door wide open for me.”

She stepped closer to the bed. Moonlight streaked from the windows and rushed down to touch, outlining her silhouette in silver. Her dark eyes gleamed in the dark. 

Then, a light close to the bed flicked on. An oily, golden light cast over the room. Bruce could see her now, and the willowy shadow she cast on the wall behind her. He expected to see her in a catsuit with a mask over her face. 

Instead, Selina had nothing on but his oversized black t-shirt.

Bruce's face flushed bright pink and he swallowed.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

Selina bit her lip and grinned.

“You know I like to take things, honey,” she said. “You’re no exception.”

Selina pressed a knee onto the mattress, then lifted herself onto the bed. Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but then silenced when she sat on top of him. Her knees pressed to his waist and Bruce’s hands instinctively went to his hips to balance her in place. He trailed his fingers down her thighs. 

Then, her eyes fell to his chest. Her eyebrows furrowed together.

“Baby,” she said. “What’s this?”

She placed a gentle hand on his upper bicep. Just under the satin fabric, a white bandage was plastered just over where his heart would be.

“Bad bruising,” Bruce said.

It was from another night out at the Batman. He wished he could say it was from fighting some street urchin. But really, he’d been trying to lay off going after petty criminals. No, this injury came from a tumble that resulted in a dint in his armor and a bad gash on his chest.

Selina stroked her fingers along the bandage. Bruce winced against the pain.

“Poor thing,” she pouted. “You need to take better care of yourself, baby.”

Her voice was like a sedative in his ear. Bruce felt his body sink into the silk sheets, his body light and helpless under her touch. He struggled to keep his eyes open.

He turned his eyes up at her. In the golden light, she looked like an angel. A fellow creature of the night who found him all alone.

“I wish you were here,” Bruce sighed. His eyes fluttered up to her. Words dropped from his tongue before he could stop them. “I miss you.”

Selina pursed her lips and gave him a long, sad look.

“You’re lonely, aren’t you, Vengeance?” she said softly.

Bruce felt his body grow warm and numb beneath her. Something about this place, wherever it was, made it impossible for him to shut himself away.

“Yes,” he said. He said it as soft and low as a confessional, like something one would say to a priest. Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. 

Selina leaned forward and trailed a gentle finger along his lips. Bruce nuzzled closer into her touch.

“Maybe I can fix that,” she said. She sat up and reached down to the knot of his robe. “And in exchange, maybe you can do something for me.” Her eyes gleamed. “Put that body to much better use.”

The knot of his robe fell loose in her hands. She rolled it up then tossed it aside, then grabbed the folds of his robe. Bruce lay still as she threw open his robe, revealing his pale, toned body covered in scars and burns. Selina trailed her hands along his body, sending shivers across his flesh.

“Don’t worry, baby,” she whispered. “You’re safe with me.”

Her whisper made the hair on the back of his neck stand. Bruce could already feel his blood surging hotly down his body. Selina shifted a little on top of him, and that’s when Bruce realized that she didn’t have anything under his shirt.

Selina hooked her sharp fingernail into the front seam of his boxers, then slowly pulled them down. Bruce felt a shiver across his body. He couldn’t recall the last time someone touched him like this. He’d forgotten just how… nice human touch could be.

A small groan escaped his throat. Selina chuckled.

“Baby boy,” she said. She crawled her hand up his chest to his mouth, then hooked two fingers in his mouth. “You’re so tender under all that armor.”

Bruce didn’t challenge her. His lips parted to make room for her fingers to move inside him. He watched her move her other hand to his throbbing erection. She took him in his hand, lifted herself, then slid herself on top of him.

Bruce let out a muffled gasp. Selina’s fingers in his mouth stifled the sounds he made as he felt her hot, tight pussy clasp his cock.

“Mmm, baby” Selina moaned. Her eyes fluttered shut and she pursed her lips. “You feel so good.”

“Selina,” Bruce tried to say with his mouth full.

She rolled her hips over his, sending waves of hot pleasure rushing up his body. Bruce’s hips bucked to meet hers. His hands reached down to clasp her hips, holding her in place as she rode him into the mattress.

The whole time, his eyes gazed up at her. The light trailed her like a halo. He watched how her body moved expertly on top of him, the delectable moans percolating from her throat. He ran his hands up her hips, her stomach, over her breasts. Her nipples perked just under the fabric of his shirt and he pressed his palm to one. He couldn’t touch her enough. He wanted to feel all of her against him.

Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut and he dropped his hands to his side. Selina pressed down harder and quickened her speed.

“Shit,” Bruce moaned. He pressed his face to the pillow. “Fucking, ride me.”

Selina’s face broke into a gleeful grin. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them down to the bed. Her hips moved at a break-neck pace, fucking him so hard that the bed frame banged against the wall.

She smoothed her hands down his arms to his chest. Bruce felt her getting tighter, wetter, dripping along his cock. He felt a burning, swelling pulse rise inside him.

Selina tipped her head up to the ceiling.

“Baby,” she moaned. “You’re gonna make me…”

Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave a mark. Bruce didn’t care. He tightened his grip on her waist, jerking his hips up to shove himself deeper inside her.

“Fuck me,” he whimpered with every thrust. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

Bruce felt light as a feather. His face fell to the side on the pillow as a pleasurable sigh fell from his lips. The world around him was warm and seemed to melt like candlewax, turning on its side. He heard a ringing in his ears growing louder and louder, overpowering the sounds of his and Selina’s sultry moans…

And then, he sat up in bed.

Bruce’s heart was pounding in his chest and his breath came out in ragged pants. His face and neck were flushed hot and he felt sweaty.

Selina was nowhere to be seen. He was in his bedroom in Wayne Manor. Just beyond the tall arching windows, he saw the pattering rain and a crack of lighting filled the room with a white burst of light. Thunder rumbled just overheard, making the walls of the manor shake.

He was all alone.

Bruce shifted in bed, and that’s when he felt something warm. He grabbed the duvet and lifted it off of him. Right between his legs, the bed sheet was wet and sticky. He grimaced at the mess he made. He would have to clean that in the morning, or else poor Alfred would have to do it.

He glanced around the room. It was nearly pitch-black, save for the moonlight trickling through the window between the raindrops. The whole manor was empty and silent. But Bruce could still feel a presence lingering, as if she was still in this room, still on top of him.

Selina Kyle. Her name was still fresh on his tongue, and despite it all being a dream, he could still feel lingering traces where he felt her on top of him. Her thighs pressed against his hips, her hands on his chest, her lips against his. It all felt so real that Bruce trembled at the memory of it.

He never met anyone who made him feel like this before, who left him feeling so exposed. Seeing her was like looking into a strange mirror. Whatever darkness he was made from, she was made from the same. Whatever wounds he carried in his mind, heart, and body, she carried the same. They were two sides of the same coin, welded from the same fire that was Gotham City.

Selina Kyle. The woman who haunted him like a ghost, turning his mind into a haunted house, filling his dreams like a specter he couldn’t shake.

Bruce swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. A crack of lightning sprung in the sky and a rumble of thunder made the walls shake. He approached the towering windows and stood there, hovering above the city.

He gazed over the cityscape of Gotham. His eyes ran past the glittering lights, past the darkness of night that stretched beyond. Somewhere off in the distance was Bludhaven. The city where his cat burglar had disappeared into.

His jaw clenched. He didn’t think it was possible to feel envious of a city. To feel envy that something other than him got to hold Selina Kyle in its arms, watch over her while she slept. He imagined Selina asleep in some bed in some shackled apartment. Her lovely face pressed against a pillow, dreaming about whatever it was that crossed her mind. She had no idea that the strange masked man she kissed in Gotham was still thinking of her.

A small, hopeful part of him wondered if he was a ghost in her head too.

Part II: The Cat

Bludhaven. December 1. 2:33am. 

It was just Selina’s luck that the one night she slept, all she could see was him. On most nights, sleep was an elusive thing to her. A habit she’d developed from spending too many nights out on the streets of Gotham. But now, even after months of living in Bludhaven, she still found herself as sleepless as ever.

Except for tonight, of course.

But while she was sleeping, she was not resting.

Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she immediately recognized where she was. Don Mitchell’s house. Or at least, what was his house. Before the police found him in his home with his head wrapped in duct tape. This was a crime scene, and for most people, it would always be remembered as one.

But to Selina, it was very different. It was a place that brought back very specific memories that made her blood rush hot. Her eyes trailed about the room, over bookshelves and lacquered tabletops. The only light came from a single window spilling amber streetlight inside. 

And then, she heard her name.

“Selina.”

A voice crawled from the dark, as cold as a gust of wind. Selina turned around to face it. Her hands twitched into fists, a long-developed instinct to fight against every threat of danger. But then Selina saw the figure standing in the shadows. A tall, looming man encased head to toe in black. And she recognized that voice. That low, husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine.

The Batman stood before her just as he had those months ago. His heavy leather boots thumped across the wooden floor toward her.

“Vengeance,” the word fell from Selina’s lips. 

Just the sight of him sent so many memories rushing through her at once. The moment they first locked eyes at the Iceberg Lounge. Their confrontation in this very house that led to an unlikely alliance. Their kiss at the top of that sky tower.

Selina bit her lip against the memory of his mouth on hers.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“You tell me,” he said. His voice still made the hair on her neck prickle. “I only come when I’m called.”

Selina made a sound between a scoff and a chuckle.

“Is that why you have a signal?” she said. “Need a light in the sky to pull you out of whatever cave you hide in?”

Batman didn’t respond. He shifted closer to her, close enough that Selina could feel his breath on her lips. Her eyes trailed along his face, or what little of his face she could see. The sharp jawline, the pale lips, the dark eyes piercing between layers of leather and grease.

“I’m here now,” he said. “So what do you want?”

The question caught Selina off. She wasn’t sure what happened to Bludhaven, why she was back here of all places. The Mitchell investigation, Annika’s murder, her father’s death. All of it had been swirling in her brain for weeks. But in the middle of all of it was him. The man in the mask around which all these thoughts orbited.

“I don’t know,” Selina said. She looked him in the eyes, searching for… something. “I miss you, Vengeance.” 

And then she finally saw it. A pale glimmer of something glinting in the dark. His face darkened and his eyes softened on her face.

“I do too,” he said.

“I don’t know why I do,” Selina confessed. She chuckled. “I mean, fuck, I hardly know you that well. I don’t even know your real name, what you look like.”

And yet looking at him was like looking into a dark mirror. They were different, but Selina could see so much of herself in him, so much of him in herself. There was a pain there, a darkness, a heart heavy with revenge. 

Selina’s gaze fell to the floor. The thunder and lightning outside ravaged the city just beyond the walls, yet the silence between them was deafening. 

Selina felt a gloved hand take her chin and lift her face. Batman looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read but reached into her soul.

“Is that going to stop you?” he asked.

His question nestled in her brain. But she knew the answer. She was Selina Goddam Kyle. She survived Gotham City. She survived Carmine Falcone. She didn’t let anything stop her.

Her eyes lingered on Batman’s mouth. Her chest warmed with the memory of their kiss. The coarse, whiskery feel of his skin. The cold touch of his lips. His breath hot in her mouth.

Selina couldn’t resist it anymore. She pressed her hands to his shoulders and lifted her lips to his. His mouth was as cold as it was on that tower, but that didn’t deter her. Batman did not hesitate to respond. He sunk into her and grasped her hips in his hands.

Selina’s heartbeat quickened in her ribs. This wasn’t like their kiss at sunset. This was hungrier, more desperate, the touching of two people who’d been separated for far too long and now finally collided.

Batman reached down and swept her up onto his arms. Selina yelped and wrapped her legs around his torso and her arms around his neck. His armor was hard and brittle, but she could feel the pulse of hot flesh just beneath it.

He pressed her down on the table. The same place they ended up during their little fight after he caught her breaking into the mayor’s vault. Except this time they weren’t fighting. No, they were doing something far more dangerous than that.

Selina wasn’t scared of him. She faced down demons in the dark far worse than him. Nonetheless, she felt a lurch in her chest and a hot shot of adrenaline spike through her.

She looked him straight in the eye.

“Why won’t you show me your face?” she said.

His eyes bore down on hers. She swore she could see something in them. Some kind of resistance. A desire to show her exactly what she wanted to see.

“I can’t,” he said.

“Why not?”

A small grin quirked on his face.

“You think someone who wears a mask is just going to show himself?”

Selina shrugged.

“You’ve seen my face,” she said.

Batman nodded. He trailed a thumb down her cheek, the rough material of the glove bristled against her skin.

“Yeah,” he said. “I have.”

He leaned his face down and pressed his lips to hers. A long moan escaped Selin’a throat as their bodies sunk together. Heat burned up her body and Selina instinctively bit her teeth into his bottom lip. He released a deep, pleasurable moan that sent all the blood rushing down Selina’s body and made her drip.

Batman moved his hands from the table. Selina heard something metallic click. She didn’t see what his hands were doing in the dark. But he must have unclasped something from his suit because she felt what was undeniably hard flesh against her leg.

His hand crawled down between her legs and found the tiny zipper for the slit by her crotch. For the first time, Selina realized she was wearing nothing but the catsuit, as she felt an icy breeze on her hot, bare flesh underneath. A shiver ran down her spine.

“Baby…” she sighed.

She gasped as he pressed his long erection inside her. He swerved his hips, pushing deeper inside her and pressing her back into the table. Selina clasped her arms around his broad shoulder and her pussy clenched around him, hot and wet. 

“ Fuck ,” Batman hissed. “ So…fucking tight… ”

He grunted with each thrust and Selina tipped her head back onto the table, her eyes fluttering shut. Her legs trembled and she braced them harder around his hips. He gripped each of her hips so tight his knuckles turned white.

She wanted to see his face, see more of him than just his eyes and mouth. She wanted to see all of him while he barreled over the edge. She wanted to know exactly who she was fucking.

But before she could even ask again, she felt a pulsing rise inside her. Batman had her hips in an iron grip, her precious lady parts closing tighter around him.

“Baby,” she sighed. She clasped her hand on the back of his head. His breath was hot on her neck and his groans were guttural in her ear.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “Baby, harder .”

He did as she said. He rammed his hips against hers, pounding deeper and deeper inside. Selina curled her clawed fingers into his neck, her back arching. She could feel the slick of her sweat on the wooden tabletop.

Batman growled in her ear.

“Selina,” he said.

They both came together with the force of a freight train. Selina gripped her sweaty arms around his back, her legs bracing around his waist as a scorching orgasm ripped through her. Batman clenched his teeth and groaned, his hips pressing hard against hers as her pussy sent him barreling over the edge.

Once the heat drained from both of them, they were both a mess. For a moment, Selina expected the door to the mayor’s library to open any second. She expected a guard or cop to come in and find both of them sweaty and dripping with cum on the table. But there was no one. If anyone heard them, no one was coming to check.

Selina’s heart was a loud beat in her ear. Batman’s face dropped to her chest, his body going slightly limp on top of her. Selina brushed her fingers over the pointed ears of his mask.

“Honey…” she breathed.

He lifted his face just above hers. For a moment, the two held each other’s eyes. Their hot, ragged breaths mingled in the space between their lips. A long silence stretched between them. Selina searched his eyes, reaching deep in their glassy haze for… something .

The same question hung on her lips.

Who are you? Who are you? Who are you? 

She reached up a hand to his face, tracing her sharp nails along his jaw. Batman's eyes fluttered shut and leaned into her touch as he released a soft, pleasured sigh. Selina moved her thumb to the leather where it met his skin.

In one swift motion, she ripped the mask off his face.

And she sat up in bed.

Selina's heart was racing and her breath was ragged. She glanced around. She was in her apartment in Bludhaven. Gotham was miles away, along with the faceless man she could still taste on her lips.

She sighed and tipped her head to the ceiling.

“Fuck,” she groaned.

She was alone. With sweat on her back and a wet spot in her underwear.

Selina sighed and flopped back down on her bed. Her body was still hot and tingling all over, memories of touches that were never there. All the while, her mind replayed the dream in her head. Hungry hands on her thighs, a hot breath on her neck, a pair of dark eyes piercing into hers.

All of it because of some masked stranger she left behind in Gotham.

Selina normally didn’t get attached to people. The only person she ever let herself get that close to was Annika, and well, look how that turned out. But it seemed like not even miles apart could pull the dark knight out from under her skin.

She turned on her side to face the window. The storm passing up the state had stretched up to Bludhaven and a crack of lightning hit the sky. The light filled her eyes and the thunder made her apartment's dingy walls shake.

She tossed her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. One of her cats meowed from the floor and she leaned down to pet his little head.

“Hey, sweetie,” she whispered. “Sorry to wake you.”

The cat nuzzled his head into Selina’s touch. She stood up straight and approached the window. Bludhaven was a lot quieter than Gotham, but the gentle sounds of the city and the rain pattering on the glass did little to soothe her.

Her eyes scanned the horizon. The water on the window smeared the city, turning the amber streetlights, the glowing windows, and the towering skyscrapers into blurs of black and sodium yellow. Ever since she arrived here, she kept waking up expecting to see Gotham staring back at her through the glass. And every day, she found herself strangely disappointed at the reminder of how far she was from home.

But was it home? Had Gotham ever really been home?

Selina shook the questions from her head. Her mind wandered back to that dream. Her flesh flared up at the memory of Batman pressing against her, her back to that table, the familiar darkness of the late mayor’s house. 

She hoped she’d forgotten him once she settled into Bludhaven. But this new city, clean of any painful memories, had done little to wipe her mind. She could still hear his voice, feel the rough touch of his hands, taste his mouth on her lips. She felt a tingle in her fingers where she grabbed his mask in the dream, one slip away from the truth to the question that had kept her sleepless since she left.

“Who are you, Vengeance?” she whispered towards the distance.

The only answer she got was another strike of lightning and a rumble of thunder. Selina pressed one hand to the window sill and gazed out over the cityscape. Somewhere in the distance was Gotham, and in that city was the man who’d taken up residence so deep in her mind that he’d invaded her subconscious. 

How did she get so attached to someone who didn’t have a name or face? How did she allow someone like him to crawl into her heart?

Selina felt her cat nuzzle against her ankle. Her eyes remained fixed into the distance, over the skyscrapers, between the drops of storming rain, beyond the dark clouds and past the full moon. She searched for a cloaked figure in the dark, moving as quick as shadows from the light. He was a city away, and yet she swore she could feel him at her fingertips.

Was he thinking of her like she was thinking of him? Selina decided it was unlikely. Tonight, Gotham’s protector was likely sound asleep in whatever cave he hid away in when he wasn't out on the streets. He had a city to think of. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d forgotten about her, just as she was supposed to forget about him.

Selina stood close to the window, close enough to fog the glass with her breath.

“Don’t forget me, baby,” she whispered.

Because heaven knew she couldn’t forget him.

Part III: Creatures of the Night

There was one surefire way to get the Batman’s attention. And it was breaking the law.

Gotham wasn’t flooded anymore when Selina rode into town, but the place still dripped with darkness the way it always had.

Selina arrived in the early morning. By midnight, she was running from a hole in a glass ceiling, a multimillion dollar artifact in her clutches.

Turns out, finding her site wasn’t that difficult. In between draining the city of seawater, the Gotham Museum of Antiquities still had time to open a new jewelry exhibit. This included a choker necklace of rubies. One Selina gripped in her hand as she dashed across the rooftop.

Behind her, the museum’s security alarm was screeching. The police were no doubt headed there way, but Selina was faster. She darted across rooftops and fire escapes until she found a place that police wouldn’t find her.

But a certain vigilante would.

Selina pressed her back against a brick wall, her breath escaping her in cold wisps. The full moon washed over the flat concrete roof. The sound of sirens was faint in the distance and all Selina could hear was her racing heart.

She turned her attention to the second brighter thing in the sky. The bat signal was pale on the clouds and you had to squint to see the shape of a bat. But it was there, and no doubt it’s intended recipient could see it.

“Impressive how fast you did it.”

As if just looking at the signal has summoned him, Batman was on the roof. Selina jumped at the sight of him. His armor nearly blended in with the dark, except for the moonlight that outlined his silhouette in silver.

“The museum’s been closed for an hour,” he said. He looked at the necklace clasped in Selina’s glove. “And already their security has failed them.”

Selina quickly composed herself. She pressed the tip of her tongue into her cheek.

“Their security is actually pretty airtight,” she said. “I’m just good at what I do.”

Batman took several steps closer to her. Selina’s body was tense. She wasn’t entirely sure if he’d greet her with a fight or not. She was still a criminal. He was still a vigilante. Who knew what he would do when he saw her return.

But even Batman didn’t seem to know what to do either. His face remained stone-like, but Selina could sense in his composure that something was off. He likely expected a lot going out every night to patrol. He did not expect to see her again.

“You left for Bludhaven,” said Batman.

“You remembered,” said Selina.

“Why are you back?”

There was a strain of suspicion on his voice. He must have thought she was what for a new score. She must have heard about the jewelry exhibit and couldn’t resist those rubies. 

“Bludhaven is dry as a bone,” Selina said. She lifted the necklace. It’s gems glinted in the moonlight. “Gotham’s a mess, but it’s more fun.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but Selina could bring herself to omit completely. She sighed and dropped the necklace at her side.

“I also came to see you,” she said.

Batman stared at her for a long moment, assessing her for lies. His eyes flicked between her and the necklace.

“If you wanted to see me,” he said. “There are better ways than stealing from a museum.”

“Sure,” Selina said. She smirked. “But this was more fun.”

She sauntered closer to him, her high heels clicking on the concrete.

“Besides,” she said. “I know you’re busy on patrol at this hour. I figured if I wanted to get your attention, I would have to do something big. Pull you away from all those gas station robbers and street hooligans.” 

Selina stood right in front of him, close enough that she could see the scratches and dents in Batman’s armor. Her skin suddenly fleshed with memories of months ago, when he used his coarse gloves hands to pin her to that table. Which in turns brought her back to memories of that dream.

She thanked god he couldn’t see her blush.

Batman held her gaze. Something was flickering across his eyes and the damn mask and greasepaint made it nearly impossible to read his expressions. His thoughts were as murky as rocks in a dark stream.

“Well, you’ve got my attention,” he said. “So what’s worth stealing jewels over?”

He wasn’t going to arrest. He wasn’t going to snatch the jewels back. He wasn’t even going to fight. Selina had expected a possible hostile reaction. But he was hearing her out.

Maybe there was a chance he even missed her.

“Like I said, Bludhaven is dry,” Selina said. “And I’ve been thinking about you. Not many vigilantes up state.”

Selina pressed her tongue into her cheek. She spent whole ride thinking what to say to him. What could she say it him? How did you tell someone you came back because the taste of their mouth has been stuck in your head for days? For months?

But then Batman spoke first.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” he said. Soft, like he was too embarrassed to say it any louder. “I didn’t think you’d ever be back.”

“Me neither.”

Batman was shifting a little as he stood. Not still as a machine like he usually did. Selina wished she could see through armor and see how his body was moving under that heavy thing, see why he seemed to shift his weight from one foot to the other.

“I thought I saw you a few nights ago,” he said “You broke into my place.”

“Can’t break into a place I’ve never seen before.”

“That’s what I thought. Turned out it was just a dream.”

A stone dropped in Selina’s stomach. She tried to keep her composure, and opted for a cocky smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve been dreaming of me, Vengeance?” she teased.

Batman didn’t even have the pride to deny it. His eyes flicked down to the ground and wouldn’t meet hers.

“I have,” he said, as soft as a confession. 

Something in his tone sent a cold chill through Selina. She licked and pursed her lips.

“That makes two of us,” she said. “You and I ran into each other at Mitchell’s house.”

Selina swore she saw a glint of something amusing in Batman’s eye. A ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“Did you escape with the passport that time?” he asked.

Selina’s face went hot.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think either of us looked in the safe.”

The air between them was thick, and hot despite the winter breeze. Batman looked at her and took a few steps closer.

“What were we doing there?” he asked.

Selina bit the inside of her cheek.

“Why do you want to know?” she said. “It was just a dream.”

“Answer my question.”

“We got into another fight.”

“About what?”

“About why either of us were there.”

Batman looked down into her gaze, black pools for eyes.

“Why was I in your house?” Selina asked.

Batman was so close that Selina could feel the breath coming from his lips.

“You stole something from me,” he said.

“What did I steal?”

His jaw clenched.

“My shirt,” he said. “It’s all you had.”

His words dripped down Selina’s back like ice water. Her chest flared and she bore her eyes into his.

“From what I recall,” she said. “You weren’t wearing as much when we hit the table.”

“We were on a table?”

“We were.”

“We were in my bedroom.”

“We weren’t fighting.”

“You fucked me in my bed.”

“You fucked me on a table.”

Selina’s heart was beating in her ear. There was something kinetic between, clicking and sparking like static electricity. She looked at his mouth. Cold pale lips, stubble that scratched against yours. Memories of their kiss on the tower, memories of the dream that brought her back to this city. She couldn’t take it anymore.

She took Batman’s face in her hand and kissed him. A moan escaped her throat as the familiar taste of his mouth came rushing back to her. Unlike on the sky tower, Batman didn’t passively receive. He sunk into the kiss, like some steel rod had broken inside him and he couldn’t resist.

His hands found her hips and pulled her closer. His armor was chilled with the touch but Selina was too flushed to notice. She ran her hands along each dent and scrap, every inch where he’d been pelted or punched or shot at or tumbled to the ground. He was a dark gem, a moonlit jewel that her greedy hands itched to clutch.

Selina was a woman used to having things taken from her. Now it was her turn. She was the Catwoman now. She wanted to grab and take.

A possessive growl crawled up her throat. She pulled Batman closer, her nails leaving scratches down the back of his armor. Just under those black plates was hot flesh and she wanted to sink her claws into it.

Their lips smacked apart. Batman’s forehead pressed to hers. Even with that damn mask on he couldn’t hide the desperate fog in his eyes. Selina’s hands gripped his neck.

“I don’t want to dream anymore,” she said.

Batman's voice was a low, hot breath.

“Me too,” he said.

Everything was quick and hazy. Selina pulled Batman back into a kiss while his hands found her hips. This time, he lifted her off the ground and Selina clasped her legs around his waist. Batman backed them up until Selina’s back hit the wall. The necklace fell to the ground.

“Are you hurt?” Batman asked. He moved a hand up where her back hit the bricks.

Selina shook her head.

“No,” she said. “And don’t you stop now.”

She pulled his face back down to hers. Batman’s hand smoothed down between Selina’s thighs and fingers found a zipper by her crotch. Selina shivered when a cold breeze met her bare pussy.

“You came prepared,” Batman said, noting the lack of underwear.

Selina grinned against his mouth.

“I know what I want, and I’m always prepared to take it,” she said.

A hint of a smirk crossed Batman’s mouth. He kissed her again while his hand reached down the front of his armor. Selina heard a click and felt Batman shift against her.

“You came all this way just to fuck me,” he said. His voice in her air made her neck hair stand.

“Maybe if you hadn’t come into my dreams I wouldn’t have to,” she said. “Tempting me with that mouth of yours.”

“You’re one to talk,” Batman said. “You got in my house and stole my shirt.”

Selina’s breath hitched as Batman suddenly pressed himself inside her. Batman released a shuddering moan and started swerving his hips. Selina clasped her hands around his shoulders and moaned into his ear.

She couldn’t feel the brick at her back. She couldn’t feel the icy air biting at her skin. All she could feel were the intense waves of pleasure pulsing up her body. Batman grunted with each thrust, hissing between his teeth.

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. “ Fuck .”

Selina clasped against him with gritted teeth. She tipped her head back up to the full mon and she swore she could howl. Her claws clasped the back of his neck.

“Right there, honey,” she purred in his ear.

His eyes flicked up to the sky. The bat signal was still draped over the clouds. She could only imagine what any Gothamites would think if they glanced up at the roof. The Batman stopped his crusade long enough to pleasure a common thief. It would be unthinkable, stain the dark knight’s image. The thought was enough to push Selina close to the edge.

Her hips bucked against his.

“Keep going,” she breathed in his ear.

Batman moved faster, harder . He growled and whimpered and grunted “I missed you” with every jut of his hips. He pushed deeper inside her, pounding her clit until Selina’s back arched and her claws reddened his neck.

“Uh-huh, that’s it baby,” she breathe din his ear. “Right there….keep going…oh, fuck …”

Selina bucked her hips until  every beat of it was out of her. She sunk her teeth into his neck to keep herself from crying out and drawing attention. Her body grew warm and limp and if Batman wasn’t holding her up she would have tumbled to the ground.

No sooner did Selina come down that Batman kept thrusting and released a guttural moan as he finished. He shoved his face into her neck and Selina felt something warm drip down her thigh.

By the time Batman’s hips slowed to a stop, both of them were burning so hot that even the winter air couldn’t make them shiver. Their hearts were racing and their breaths were panting, warming the space between their mouths.

Selina’s fingers brushed the back of his neck, over the spot where the trim of his cowl met his skin. Her long nails curled under the black material.

In one quick motion, Selina ripped the whole thing off his head.

To her surprise, Batman didn’t resist. Either because his brain was still soupy from fucking or he suspected what she was doing and let it happened. The cowl fell to the ground and the moonlight rushed down to highlight Batman’s pale face.

Damp black hair fell over his face and greasepaint smudged his eyes. But it didn’t take Selina long to see who he was.

“Bruce Wayne,” she said. “Should have fucking guessed.”

Bruce looked at her with shimmery gaze. His eyes flicked down, like he was almost embarrassed to be seen like this. His hands loosened and Selina’s feet hit the ground.

“Of course,” she said. “Batman is a Gotham elite. Who else has all the time and money in the world to do this every night?”

On some level, she suspected this. She could barely get by on her gig with what little she had. She knew that someone like Batman, with that suit and that car and those toys, had to be someone with money. What, did she really think he was some freak who dwelled in a literal cave?

Batman—Bruce—didn’t even argue with her. His eyes stayed on the ground, threads of hair curtaining his face. But the moon was too bright and he couldn’t hide from her now.

Bruce Wayne didn’t seem so impenetrable now. He resembled more like the little boy Selina had seen in a newspaper year ago, below a headline about assassinated parents. Selina had only been a child at the time, and despite the gulf of privilege she was well aware existed between them, she recognized the ghostly look in the young heir’s eyes.

It was the same look she had when she saw her mother for the last time, a ring of bruises around her neck.

Selina stepped close to Bruce, close enough that she could feel his breath. She forced him to look her in the eye while she brushed a hand on his grease-stained cheek.

“You were hurt too,” she said. “Just like me.”

Bruce’s jaw clenched and his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“That’s why you do this,” Selina said. “That’s why we both do this.”

Bruce bit hard down on his bottom lip. His eyes fluttered as Selina brushed her fingertips along his face.

“I did miss you,” he said.

“Me too.”

An icy breeze past over them both. Selina stepped back to zip up her suit. Bruce quickly did the same.

“It’s fucking freezing,” Selina said under her breath. “Next time let’s find someplace inside.”

Bruce lifted his eyes.

“Next time?” he asked.

Selina scoffed and raised an eyebrow.

“You expecting another round, Vengeance?”

She said it as a joke, but Bruce didn’t seem to think so. His head was dipped down like he was too shy to look at her. Like he wasn’t just inside her a minute ago.

“Are you going back to Bludhaven?” he asked.

Selina paused before she answered. Her choice to come back to Gotham was an impulsive one. A result of her dream a few nights ago. The one that stuck in a loop in her head, driving her crazy with the thought of Batman’s mouth on hers.

She didn’t even know if she’d get a chance to fuck him. Let alone be asked to stick around.

“I guess,” she said. “I don’t have a place to stay here anymore.”

In the cloud above them, there was a soft rumble of thunder. It was small, but it signaled a storm. Knowing Gotham’s weather patterns, they had minutes before it started pouring buckets and the sky was ripped with lightning.

“You can’t go now,” Bruce said. “You think you can ride all the way back to Bludhaven in this condition?”

Of course she could. Selina spent most her life in Gotham’s rain-soaked streets, she could handle any bad weather. But she knew Bruce know that, and that wasn’t really what he was asking.

Selina pursed her lips and looked back down at Bruce. Her fingers drummed on his shoulders.

“You’re right,” she said. “The streets are going to get dangerous soon.”

“Do you have a place to stay the night?”

“No, I don’t.” A smirk crept on Selina’s face. “I’d hate to take up space in that giant mansion of yours.”

Bruce licked his lips.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” he said. “You might have to share a room with me.”

Selina’s heart hitched and her neck suddenly flushed hot. She could feel silky sheets on her skin, Bruce’s hot, hard flesh pressed against hers again.

She heard police sirens and glanced off in the distant. Some red and blue lights passed by on the street, but thankfully, none of them were headed their way.

“Looks like you’ve still got trouble out tonight,”she said.

Bruce pursed his lips and squeezed his hands on Selina’s hips.

“Gordon can handle it,” he said, “I’m about to have more pressing matters at home.”

Bruce’s eyes lingered down at the ruby choker on the ground. He pointed to it.

“I’m still gonna have to ask you to return that,” he said.

Selina glanced down at the Ruby necklace glittering on the concrete. She picked it up and dangled it from her claws. She couldn’t return it now while there were still police hanging around the museum. Maybe she could send it in an anonymous letter. Wear gloves to leave no fingerprints behind.

Selina shrugged.

“That’s fine,” she said. “I prefer diamonds anyway.”

A small smile quirked at the corner of Bruce’s mouth.

“Noted,” he said.

[tmwcs]

HHP - Chapter 20 MDNI18+

ooooooh........the plot thickens yall.....

Warnings: MDNI 18+, mentions of murder, smut, torture, sense of kidnapping, abuse of authority in relationship, controlling behavior, manipulation, extreme obsession, deceit, mentioning of serial killer.....mmmm cursings, there are quite a few of flashbacks/time jumps with this chapter, so if you haven't read MGR/MRE and all of HHP (i know i gotta fix the chapters on the masterlist, believe me i've been trying all day and tumblr keeps wanting to relapse me back to home page, but i promise i'll fix it. This chapter is only slightly proofread, so you know what to do if you find a mistake. lol.

If you had requested to be on the taglist but dont see your name on the bottom, please let me know! i use the same taglist for the Se7en and DT series, but sometimes Tumblr likes to freeze on me whenever i copy and paste each taglist or blog name. gifs belong to blog name Heeseunq and the image was just something I found on Pinterest.

The air was stoic with the immense emptiness that hallowed the dorm room. With Vicky already gone to a new school, you couldn’t help but feel guilty despite her reassurance that this new path was something that she needed in order to get back to her true roots. Still, with how everything had transpired, you still felt a sense of guilt. It was only natural, considering you were now dating her ex-boyfriend, the one she may not have been entirely kind, yet was emotionally still holding on to.

It didn’t appear that Heeseung thought too much into the situation, in fact, you wondered if he had felt the slightest bit of guilt, considering the man was nothing but all smiles and affection ever since you both shared your first night of passion. Ever since, he was inseparable from you.

……………

“I did it….I finally got her….she’s mine…I’ve been waiting for so long…yearning so hard….waiting for the moment where I can have her all to myself, protect her, love her, cherish her, see more of her, and witness the pain, sadness, happiness, anger, and chaos that lies within her. I can’t wait to see every single inch of her, and memorize the hidden corners of her body, the inner workings of her mind, and the various depths of tone in her voice. Finally…..she’s mine.”

……………

The moment you both made it official and broke the news to Vicky, It didn't take long for Heeseung to convince you to come back with him to his room, figuring his frat house was way more convenient than your single dorm, which it indeed was. It also didn’t take long for him to pin you against the mattress, floating above you as he positioned himself to take in a full sight of your lying form, hair and all.

‘God damn she’s so beautiful….and she's fucking all mine….’

“What are these?” you chuckled as you laid flat back on the bedspread and saw a pair of glasses on the nightstand.

“My glasses…”

“You wear glasses?”

“I used to….back in high school.”

“You don’t anymore?”

“Nope…got Lasik a while back…”

Hovering atop of you while propping himself up by the stealth of his straight arm, his hand firmly planted next to your head, he remained in a dominant position overhead of you…..gleaming down at you with his black, feasting eyes.

Taking the glasses with his free hand, he puts them on, delicately sliding them upwards along the bridge of his nose with the tip of his finger. Once more, he looks down at you, this time through the clear lenses decorating his face.

Still remaining propped high up above you, paralleled to your frame, he bites down his lower lip as he raises his brows at you with an intrigued and look of desiring amusement, his infamous bedroom stare. Appreciating the eye contact through the handsome stare beneath the framed lens, you felt his free hand slowly travel against your outer thigh, up to your hip, reaching your waist, where he grabs and squeezes the side of it.

Narrowing the widened shape of his eyes, he leans down and kisses you, deeply and passionately, the sound of his tongue dancing with your own, accompanied by the sweet smacking of your lips meeting and clicking against each other filled the room. A sound that was so pleasant…and so new to the area, since he admitted that you were the only woman he had ever brought back to his room. Something that was a big no-no for him, even with Vicky, yet he was so welcoming and open to have you there with him. So much in fact, that each day he issued hints in desiring for you to remain and live with him, something that you took time to consider, but eventually catered to, at the expense of his constant urging expression…not to mention that one night where the decision was sealed for you….

“ You’re not leaving.”

“I have to, all my stuff is in my dorm.” You softly laughed out, taking in his demanding tone lightly.

“So?....I’ll take you early in the morning, besides I don’t want to drive you back just yet. Stay here….”

“Heeseung it will be easier if I-“

With swift movement, you felt him suddenly hovering his large frame over you from behind while you were opening the door, only to feel it gently slam shut beyond your reach as the knob slips out your grasp.

With his hand firmly laid flat on the surface of the wood panel, his free arm snakes around your waist and pulls your backside against his groin. With his face burrowed into your hair, he whispers in his usual dark and deep tone…

“I said stay…….be a good girl and just stay…..”

Breaking the kiss, he takes the glasses off and places them on you. To your surprise, the lenses were non-prescription and merely plastic.

“You replaced the lenses?” you asked as you lifted your hand to slightly adjust the delicate silver frame on your face.

“Yeah. Last year, Jake and I went to a Halloween party, and we decided to go as ourselves in High School. Since my vision is corrected, I replaced the lenses with plastic ones.” He smirks while explaining, once more biting down on his lip as he tilts his chin downward, admiring the view before him. “They look good on you….who would have thought that someone would look better than me in my own glasses.” He chuckles.

“Stop, you’re overexaggerating.” You chuckled back.

“No pretty girl…I’m not….you’re a wonderment.” He speaks softly as he reaches down and gently removes the glasses, placing them back on the nightstand as he simultaneously leans back down to kiss you.

“But if I had to choose….I like you just the way you are right now…..” he spoke against your lips, his eyes extremely narrow as he spoke, glistening with wetness that was neither tears nor the reflection of light…it was something else.

It amazed you…how close you two bonded with one another considering at this point in time, you both had barely began dating, sharing your first night after the frat party just recently. Yet you felt as if you had been with him for much longer considering the fact that there was something about Heeseung you learned and grew accustomed to…a secret that no one else, not even those such as Jake, who had been closest to him throughout his life, knew the details of the one thing you were exposed to….all beginning a night that took place one week after you began dating.

He brought you comfort, joy, and protection, the things that you hadn’t felt at this level, it was so intense. The way he loved and displayed his affection, it was unlike anything you ever felt before, and yet, it was so hard for you to understand or figure just how he could make you feel that way.

It could have been the way he touched you….how he could swiftly move back and forth between rough and gentle. It could have been the way he spoke to you, a low and deep tone that would escalate to a more heightened and softer pitch or go even lower and darker in tone. It could have been the way he stared at you, his eyes would range from a look of peak admiration, filled with light and love that you’ve never seen a man give to a woman….and then there were times where he would peer down at you with a look of desire…lust….a look of thirst and hunger, as if he wanted to devour you but in the most sensual way he could….and he did.

You’ll never forget that night, when he took you back to the farm that you became so fond of, from when he brought you out the morning after your first night together….when your relationship came to life.

You could still remember it as clear as day...

The squeaking of the leather seating in the back, the rocking motion of the car as your bodies grinded and moved in sync, and the sweet sound of skin-to-skin contact with breathless gasps and moans, it was another night of wild and heated passion, where he repeatedly thrusted and you took it all, clenching and helplessly bouncing while he controlled your movements as you supported yourself with your hands firmly grabbing onto his shoulders.

Minutes turned to hours, and there he was once again releasing inside you with his potent essence that melted you from the inside out, causing your body to go limp and weak.

It wasn’t until that moment that you learned of a very peculiar nature about the man in front of you….the man who stared at you with loving eyes, bit his lips out of excitement whenever you made eye contact with him….the man who loved you so much that he punctured his own flesh, his teeth digging into his lip every time he gazed at your face whenever he was reminded that you really did belong to him…and that you being there in his reach was not a dream.

…………..

“Ugh…..mmm……H-Heeseung….”

“Yeah…..you want more? Tell me you want more……there’s nothing more that I want to do than to give it to you a thousand times over….”

“Mmm……ugh!.....I…..I……I w-want….want more….”

Sucking on your neck, you felt his hands drop from your waist as he relaxes his grip and settles them on your hips. His momentum slows down as he retracts from progressing in re-entering inside you…instead he slowly releases your neck as he throws his head back against the head rest. Both of you slightly sweaty from the immense orgasm you both just gifted to one another, yet the moment he was well on his way to initiate it all over again, he stops….

“…..Are you okay?”

“….yeah…just….wanted to take a moment to….calm myself down.” Tightening his grip around your hips, he pulls you in for a small kiss.

“Calm yourself?” you softly inquired between each soft smack of the kiss.

“Mmhmm….”

You pulled slightly back and looked at him with a peculiar look before drifting your vision down to his chest. His shirt sticking to his skin, reflecting the quick flashback of how you both were overwhelmed by desiring each other’s touch, that you hadn’t even bothered fully undressing one another. With your dress wrinkled around your waist, his jeans loose and his shirt slightly rolled up to expose his toned abs, and your hair sticking to your skin as was his, you trailed your fingers down the lining of each muscle definition that was displayed before you. “Calm yourself from what?”

Bringing his face forward, slightly transitioning his sight from a lazy, heavy lidded look to a glare, he speaks in a growling tone…it was a tone of annoyance…frustration….or anger…..was it frustration towards you?....or was it….?

“I rather not…..hurt you….y/n.”

You blinked out of sincere confusion. “……Would you?”

Expressing a look as if he was offended by your defying response, he reaches up and slaps a new grip around your upper arms and pulls you in as he hisses through his teeth.

“Yeah I would….I fucking would…..I want to ruin you….I want to give it to you so badly….give you the stuff nightmares and screams of pleasure are made of…..you have no fucking idea….you pretty…pretty soft thing….” Gritting his teeth, he nearly snarls as he brings your face forward by the grip he had on your arms.

As he widens his eyes, his nose tip touching yours, you saw the glare mold into a malicious, sadistic, and demeaning look….it was the look of a beast, not the man that you were speaking to just a moment ago.

Still….the way he licked his lips…..the way he tried to maintain self-control….the way he gritted his teeth….you’re not sure how…but something told you that ‘love’ was still there….it was a love that was slightly different, but just as everlasting and intense….a darker love….and you wanted to see more of it. You wanted to experience all sides of this man…..just as much he wanted to experience all sides of you.

“……Its okay…..if……if you do….only if you feel like…..if you want to…….I’ll take whatever you have to give.” You couldn’t bear to make eye contact as you spoke, instead you opted to stare at his chest as you fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. The beads of sweat dripping down from your collarbone and onto your nude breasts felt cold as you found yourself in a state of shock, intrigue, and fear at the feel of his tightening grip.

Scoffing, he bit his lip as he continued to glare at you with that eerie look on his face. “Don’t say anything you will regret…..you have no idea what you’re asking for….yyyyyy/nnnnnnn.” At the mentioning of your name, his fingers dig into your skin, his eyes widening as the sclera expands and takes over the space his iris had occupied, instead, the circle of black coloring shrinks, enhancing that unsettling look in his eye…..it was nearly murderous and demonic.

Yet, you remained true to your heart and gut instinct…despite feeling a level of fear that was equivalent the level of joy and comfort he gave you……it was all so contradicting, and yet you needed to see more…you needed to see all of it….the two sides of love he had in store for you.

“……True…but does that change the fact that I still want to see it?” You slightly spoke back.

Hissing once more, his countenance transitioned, his glare lessened as he developed a look of being seemingly challenged and intrigued. “Oh-ho really now?.......You sure about that?......hmm?....fucking answer me.”

His grip on your waist tightens, he pulls you against his chest harshly with effortless speed and violently harsh, practically enveloping you with his mighty frame.

“Well? Fucking say it if you feel so strongly about it…….I’ll fucking devour you…you have no idea how long I’ve been keeping myself at bay…..hiding…..refraining from scaring people…..from scaring you……but by all means….you want to release the beast…..you want me to show you how I can love?...You want me to make you scream?....To make you beg? Go right on ahead baby…..fucking say it……”

With his strong hand, he grips your neck and forces you to look into his blackened eyes….the first time you saw them matte black, no longer carrying that glistening shine. There was a darkness that casted over his features that made him look more sharp and defined…..his smirk no longer carried the essence of a prince-like grace, instead, it was a devilishly handsome….sadistic and malevolent, crooked smile.

“I…..” you started. He raised a brow as you watched his smile widening…..bearing teeth.

“….weeeeeelllllll??......” he urges. “…..Say it…..”he whispered out.

“I……I want to…..only if you feel like it….” You lean in, tapping your lips against his as you repeat with a delicate, soft and airless whisper….

“…..only if you feel like it…..”

Sealing his lips with a tender kiss, you reach up and caress his cheek, his strong grip around your neck tightens yet remained soft. You’re not sure if he was stunned, shocked, or pleasantly surprised, maybe it was all of the above…either way, he took a moment before he finally started to move and caress your body….at least…. that’s how it started.

…………..

“Ah! Ugh! Oh my G-…..ah! mmmmm!!…”

A cycle of moans, gasps, and screams penetrated through your lips as you felt the uncontrollable tempo of his sexual wrath taking place and pleasantly destroy your body. It was similar to that of the first night, whenever you pushed or tried to create distance, he pulls and seals your bodies together. Only this time….it was much more relentless and intense…..there was more hunger and less restraint…..as if there was a side to him that had created a balance….yet that side was not here this time…..

“No-no…..this is what you asked for riiiiiight?……..Fucking let me eat you….let me feast on your skin……let me tear your body to pieces…..”

“Ugh!Ugh! Ah!” the raging pleasure of his motions overtook your body, it was both painful and euphoric. Thighs shaking, hips gyrating, and your chest heaving, you felt as if he was digging into your soul with the way he fucked you, it was hard, intense, and rough, more so than his usual manner since you’ve started dating, yet it brought you to a peak of euphoria that you had never felt before.

“H-Heeseung ugh! P-please! Oh my God!”

Pausing his motions, he glares at you while holding you by the neck, feeling the blood rushing through as your body catches its breath from his overzealous manner of loving you. Lowly speaking, he suddenly and harshly brings your face closer to his as he licks over your lips, admitting a small bite on your bottom lip before whispering…..

“Wrong…fucking…name……” with a deep and dark chuckle, he commences his movements…..at an excruciating pace.

The loud smacks of your thighs and derriere landing on his lap, the high pitch screams of mercy, the strands that flew all around from the jerked movements you were forced to succumb to as he grabbed, squeezed, lifted, and slammed you in a cycle of up and down, back and forth, and rolling movements…burrowing his length deeper inside you…..exploring new depths that had never been breached before.

“Ah! Ugh!! W-what are you doing to me!? Please!!! Oh my God!!” a lightening jolt of immense pleasure with a sharp sting spreads throughout your body, causing you to experience a sense of paralysis as your body grew too weak, succumbing to any sense of mercy he may….or may not be willing to give.

Biting, nibbling, sucking, and harshly chuckling against your skin, he varied his grip between your waist, hips, and rear cheeks as he created a new momentum and tore you apart in ways that were deemed unimaginable.

“Please!!!”  You screamed as the black tunnel clouded your vision, caving in and narrowing your sight to almost pure darkness. “Oh my God please….ugh! I…I’m gonna cum!!” you screamed as you dig your fingers into his shoulders, pleading for him to allow you….and himself to give in.

“Fuck…!!!” he groans against your skin and finally, he releases.

Fully drenched in sweat, the both of you catch your breath with the pounding of your chest plates tapping each other. His grip does not loosen, yet it wasn’t as harsh like it was during his ravishing display of feasting and dominating your body.

Sitting upright with the little bit of strength you could gather, you took a good look at his face to see that the sinister and malicious countenance remained, staring right back at you.

Breathing hard, his mouth slightly parted, with his head leaned back, he glares under half lidded eyes, but he doesn’t say anything…not a single word. Instead, he continues to catch his breath.

You felt your gaze turned to that of a sympathetic one…something told you that this man has been hiding a side of himself for a long time.

“You…….said ‘wrong name’ earlier…..what…..what am I supposed to call you?....if it’s not Heeseung?”

He continues to glare and breathes deeply, getting a few pumps of oxygen to replenish the air loss in his lungs, he finally speaks in a low and dark voice….

“Ethan….”

Suddenly, his sadistic countenance softens….he still had a look that could kill, yet he didn’t appear as murderous in his gaze. His hands travel upwards to your ribcage, and he gently pulls you in towards him. He was less harsh, and much gentler with his manner in pulling you in. Kissing you on your forehead, he cradles you against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, running his fingers through your hair as he tightens his hold around your lower back. Like a child, he embraces you fully, resting his chin atop of your head.

“My beautiful girl…..call me Ethan….”

At that very moment, as you recalled the past scenes of how you met Ethan, you learned bit by bit of who exactly he was, as well as Heeseung. It was strange and interesting, how both were complete opposites and yet displayed so much similarities when it came to the values of their love for you…their desire to protect you, to shelter you, and to give you warmth, in their own unique way.  

The next morning, Heeseung refrained from immediately addressing the case of his alter ego, simply stating that it was a side of him that was much darker and deeper, but still loved me just as much as he did, in his own unique way.

……………….

“Ever heard of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?”

“…Yes…..”

“Just think of it like that……Ethan is a side of me that I’ve hid and had to keep secret….he’s the maniacal side of me…..a very dark persona…..but that doesn’t deter him from loving you…from wanting to protect you.” Walking you back up to a wall, he pins you to the surface as he cups your face and dives in to you. He was still in his Heeseung state, yet he had a sliver of darkness casted over his face, as if he was going to transition, yet he remained true to the gentler side of his Dr. Jekyll face.

With a kiss on your lips, he gently pulls away and whispers….

“Just promise me you’ll love the both of us….don’t ever be afraid of Ethan….even though sometimes I’m afraid of what he’ll do to you…..he loves you in a way that Lions love flesh….sometimes he might not be able to control himself….but promise me you’ll never stop loving him…or me….always be a good girl….and love us….just like we love you.”

Nodding, you reassured Heeseung with a gentle smile. “I promise….”

"I'm tired......of all these people.....wanting to hurt you.....first Gabe....then Samuel.....Tiff....Scott......that man we saw at the theater.....why can't people just leave you alone?.....Why can't everyone just leave my pretty baby alone?" a look of sadness quickly took over the angry expression as he brushed his fingers along your cheek. Yet still, despite the sudden change in his countenance, there was something off putting about his demeanor and attitude.

"I just.....I want to take you away....that's all I want....I want us to be away from everything else....where I know you'll always be safe.....I can be nice about it.....or I can be forceful.....it all depends on how you want it y/n.....because one way or another....I'm taking you. I rather you be willing though.....so....please say yes.....tell me you'll let me keep you all to myself.....and let me take you away......I graduate in a few months....let me start everything and let me hide you away from this ugly world.......let me take you away! Say yes! Say it…..SAY IT.”

“O-okay….yes….take me away…..take me away Ethan.” You forced a soft smile, wanting to appease his desperate tone. The sudden dark chuckle that emitted from his mouth caught you off guard, and you furrowed your brows as you looked at him for an explanation.

“W-what is it? Why are you laughing like that?”

Not immediately answering, instead, you watched as Ethan displayed his usual behavior of biting his lower lip, slurping the saliva as his eyes smile at you through a widened glare. You’ve seen this expression before, yet there was something much different about the way he was issuing it….why was he laughing so darkly towards you?

“…..Ethan?” you softly spoke out, faintly smiling for reassurance.

“Heheheheheh…..wrong name….y/n.”

HIS PERSPECTIVE

Nearly five months have passed. You finished college and finally got your degree, yet you were already moving at a fast pace well before you graduated, because the moment she said ‘yes…take me away’, you became far too elated to save any bit of planning for the last minute.

To your surprise, she didn’t struggle, object, or put up much of a fight, yet you suspect that the confusion and shock hit her so hard that she remained stale in her emotions and movements. Not that you were complaining, this was for the better…..for her….and for yourself. How nice it was to finally be at peace and happiness, to have her all to yourself….in this new beautiful home….taking her with you whenever you went into work, knowing where she her location was at all times…assured that she was always safe, away and out of sight from the ugly world. Not to mention….she was finally….entirely all yours….ALL…..YOURS…..AND YOURS ONLY.

.................

“Let’s go pretty baby…..we got a plane to catch.”

“W-wait no! I….I haven’t said goodbye to-“

“You can call them when we land. Let’s go.”

“P- please…..”

“Come on pretty baby…..let me take you away…..let me do it nicely….unless you want me to be a bit forceful with it? Hmm?....you really don’t have a choice…..so just be nice…and let me take you…..let me keep you…..COME HERE.”

..................

Of course, it was abrupt and rather sudden, with you plucking her away from the environment she was used to, forcing her to enroll in online classes so suddenly, packing, and picking up everything in preparations for the move, and flying out the moment you were handed your degree. Yet it wasn’t as if you didn’t tell her…..you did. A long time ago when you initially brought up the question and asked her if she would come with you. You even warned her….that you were going to take her away…..it’s not like you were doing everything behind her back. This was something you had made evident from the very start, and was quite open about it when you asked if she would come with you…..something you were prepared to take matters into your own hands should say ‘no’…..but in your favor….she said ‘yes’ instead. How fortunate and less tedious for you.

Unlike with Vicky and the others, you cared less if they had wanted to follow you or not. You always thought that at some point, should they fall out of your good graces, which they all eventually did, you would find a suitable partner to become your wife later on. You never once thought that someone in this world existed with such inner and outer beauty, a tender voice, and wondrous personality, one that drove you to the point of insanity. You never truly felt that you would have had a fighting chance in Hell in gaining her affection since her loyalty wouldn’t permit her from breaking away from Samuel at the time. Yet you were fully prepared to get her at all costs…..but fate worked in your favor once more when she received that email….that one thing that broke her….and of course you were there to pick her back up….you had been waiting and observing her with eagle eyes. How would she have reacted if she knew….that the moment you saw her at the party that night…..you broke….you finally decided that you would plan….sabotage…..manipulate every aspect of reality so you could have her….How would she have reacted?

If Samuel hadn’t ended up revealing his true and unjust nature just in time, and broke her heart that very night….ceasing you to carry out your delicate plans in separating her from everything in the world so you could be the only one in her life to bring forth comfort.....How would she have reacted if she were to ever found out the changes that occurred with in you the moment you saw her that night? What went through your mind…..as you watched her standing there, next to the open bar at the party…..back when you were still yearning and loving her from a distance...up until the end of it...when both your lives changed at the commencing of your blossoming bond that took place much later in that same evening....

Walking in casually, watching as everyone clearing your path, rendering such obedience and courtesy as you walked past the large frenzy of dancing fools, you speared the way, looking for the bar. The one thing you needed at this very moment was a drink…..you’ve been through the most emotional turmoil and pain that you never knew existed, all due to missing and yearning for your girlfriend’s…well…your ex-girlfriends roommate…..

It had been weeks since you last saw y/n, all due to the fact that you started to distance yourself from Vicky, trying to find a different avenue of approach in gaining a way to spend time with y/n…but also….how to appeal and expose her to the truth of her obviously unfaithful boyfriend, Samuel. It frustrated you…the way she was still holding on…acting so blindly unaware, for the sake of loyalty and her dignity as a woman….a respectable woman. It was all something you both, loved and grew frustrated over. Why couldn’t she just break it off with him so you could be with her?

‘I want her….I want her so badly….I’m going insane…..I can’t stop thinking about her….I can’t stop imagining her……I need her…..’

Pausing midway, you take out your phone from the inner pocket of your blazer jacket and text Jake of his whereabouts. After hitting ‘send’, you raise your face once more and continue to walk in a stoic manner.

The guys all admired while the girls swooned, as usual.

You didn’t dress up often, but whenever the occasion called for it, you knew how to make yourself look presentable. Of course, a casual range of attire was preferable, but there was no harm in dressing up occasionally as long as you could still maintain a sense of comfort. Piercing through the opening path the crowd had cleared for you, the whispers of their esteem regard and adoration buzzed through your ears.  

……………..

“Oh my God that’s Ethan Lee….my God he looks so fine.”

“Girl I heard he stopped talking to his girlfriend…you know? The pretty one….Vicky.”

“No shit???”

“Yeah, she was talking to some of her friends on how he stopped returning her calls and texts and apparently they hadn’t even seen each other for weeks now….this might be your chance.”

“Oh my gosh I wish….he looks so cold though.”

“Girl of course he does….that’s Ethan….”

“Bro….Ethan Lee is here. Move out of the way, you don’t want to be in that man’s way.”

“Who is Ethan? Dude that guy is tall as fuck…..look how gigantic he is compared to everyone else.”

“Yea man…and don’t let his slender frame fool you…man’s got a body harder than a rock. He does so much physical training for like..sports, dance, and even rugby….don’t ever cross paths with him unless you’re in his circle of friends.”

“Ethan looks handsome like always but I love his outfit…my gosh….he looks so sexy in black.”

“The blazer, the fitted tee….the skinny jeans…..the combat style boots and that black hat…oh my God let me just have one night with him….”

“I don’t recall if I’ve ever seen Ethan without his hat….you can never see his eyes.”

“Might be a good thing….I heard that the dude looks pretty damn scary without it. But the girls say he looks handsome too…so I guess it really depends on how he wants to look at you.”

“Move out of the way! Ethan is coming….”

………………

‘Hmph…..fucking idiots. Whatever….just let me get a drink and drown out my soul…..’

Turning the corner of the corridor, you enter the wide-open kitchen, where the island displayed various bottles of liquor and beer.

‘Yup…. let’s go. Get it all out of your system, big guy.’

Delicately grabbing the bottle closest to you, while the other snagged a red solo cup from the stack nearby, you gently poured yourself a drink. You hadn’t realized that under the dim lighting, the one thing causing you such despair was standing a few feet away across the island. It wasn’t until you tilted your head back, sipping on the hard taste of pure liquor that you saw her through the narrow opening of your eye…..looking at you…

‘Oh my God…she’s here….she actually came….Vicky must have made her come out…God fucking dammit she’s so damn beautiful…..she’s wearing black….a little black dress….holy fuck her body…I can see her curves….she’s….her hair is down….she really is a goddess…..her eyes….her lips….fuck….is she wearing a different shade of lipstick? Its darker…it’s much bolder than usual…it’s a different shade of red….its like the color of….blood….and is that…..is she wearing a choker?......My God…how do I get this girl for keeps? How do I fucking get her and make her mine? I need her….I…I ….fuck…I’m losing it.’

You watched with wide eyes as you lowered your cup….you could feel that you were staring at her with peak amusement and a sickening glare. You felt the stretch in the corners of your lids the more you remained observant of her motions as she gently waves at you…smiling….softly laughing with that sweet…..sweet look in her eye.

Calming your nerves as you walk up to her, you subtly cleared your throat just before you presented yourself in front of her.

“Y/n, how have you been?”

“I’m doing good, how have you been?”

‘Fuck…there she goes again…she’s smiling at me…..she’s so gentle and soft and looking at me with those fucking gorgeous eyes….why?…how?....How……?.....Y/n…..don’t do this to me girl…..don’t do anything else…..I’m….I’m reaching a breaking point……don’t make me do it…..don’t make me into the monster that I’m about an inch away from becoming……God dammit…you’re a fucking wonderment……’

She didn’t do anything…she didn’t need to….in fact….she didn’t have to try….she didn’t have to go out of her way to bring out the demons…..

By just being herself….by simply moving as she slightly tilted her head and gazed at you with that sweet fucking smile of joy in seeing you again…..you watched as the fate of wonder and magic occurred when a piece of her front hair became stuck on her face, the ends edged into the very outer corner of her mouth from when she sipped on her drink……she looked so carefree….so alluring…..beautiful…..just everything a man could wish for in a woman…..

You couldn’t contain yourself. There was an urge within you to find any reason whatsoever to touch her, even though she looked so beautiful with that piece of hair delicately draping across her cheek…..you wanted to touch both it and her skin.

The sense of desire within you caught your breath….you couldn’t respond to her…..not right away at least. With a faint gulp, one that she did not notice, you reached up and gently caressed her soft skin as your thumb moved the strands away….it felt like silk while her skin felt like soft chiffon……you even took it a step further by tucking the strands around another longer piece of hair that framed her face, to keep it in place. She didn’t seem to mind….or maybe, she was too shocked or star-stunned to say anything….because her eyes looked at you with a sense of wideness and curiosity that you just wanted to break and cradle at the same time. That was the moment when you knew….

‘…..That’s it…..I can’t anymore…..y/n……you’re mine. You belong to me…..its all your fault……you’re going to figure that out later on. For now, let’s make it happen baby….’

It took everything within you to refrain from displaying the eerie smile you felt creeping along the corner’s of your mouth as you suppressed the urge to plaster it before her. Because at that moment, you began planning….you began to create ideas and methods to take her away….to keep her and make her yours.

‘…First….we’ll get rid of boyfriend…..he’s no good anyhow. Second, get you ready to come far away with me……we’ll get you to do all your classes online…maybe even enroll you to a different school…..you’ll come with me…..I’ll start building you a house….I’ll make it beautiful but also….barricaded….its going to take some time for you to get used to the new surroundings….but in the meantime…we’ll make sure your pretty little self doesn’t escape through any window or door….no house already established is going to do….I’ll start from scratch and have one built….just for you…..it will be pretty…..it will have everything you need….everything you want…..along with everything I want…which is simply you of course.’

All throughout the night, you developed more into your plans and began to focus on how and when you should act. You started to research and find Samuel’s social media accounts, meticulously gaining the details surrounding his location, school, and his friends….you knew from the way he had been delaying in his communication with her that he was up to no good….one man to another, it wasn’t hard to see the signs of infidelity, yet you didn’t mind, it made your job easier, for now all you had to do was expose him…and with your connections and corrupt nature you were now developing, that wasn’t going to be hard to do at all.

‘Lets see…….who do I know that goes to the same university as good ol’ boy Sammy? Hmm?’

“Hey Heeseung!”

You turned around and saw Jake approaching you from behind. Jake, along with six other members of your inner circle were the only ones you could tolerate and build a bond with since you all grew up together, especially Jake. He was more like a brother than anything else, while the others you considered as family similar to that of cousins. With Jay, Sunghoon, and Sunoo going to an out of state college, Niki and Jungwon still finishing high school, it was a rare but joyful occurrence to see them. At least you got to see Jungwon from time to time since he was participating in the Ace program that allowed him to complete his high school requirements while attending a few college courses at the university you attended.

Watching as your best friend walks up, behind him he had trailing a young woman, she was small and dainty in appearance, dressed in Lolita sense of fashion, yet it was altered to reflect a more matured level in its appearance as displayed by the exposure of skin and cleavage. Hopefully this one was good and not at all like all Jake’s previous girlfriends…

………

“Ethan….dont tell Jake but….I really want to fuck you….you’re so hot.”

“I hear you fuck girls left and right…..do you want to try me? I wont tell Jake.”

“Ethan….please…please don’t tell Jake….but I think I might have a crush on you……what should we do about it?”

……..

Nothing…..do absolutely nothing about it.

‘Fucking whores.’

You couldn’t count how many girls, whether they were dating your friends or not, would come around, expressing their hard lust and desire for you. It was as if a new girl would come around each day, running after you to express their fondness.

If they were single, you may or may not have dabbled in and got yourself some relief from the frustrations of dealing with Vicky’s infidelity, or the others before her. But for the ones that were attempting to meddle with the trust and sanctity of your friendship with Jake…..your cruelty in exposing them knew of no boundaries or limitations.

………

“Fuck off. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I have a distaste for backstabbers like you.”

“B-but…can we just-“

“I said FUCK OFF….I mean it…..or do I need to SHOW you that I mean it?”

………..

Each one of them would formulate a look of fear as they ran off. Of course, you would expose the truth to Jake, and watch as he would ditch one girl like the last, only to find a new one to fall in love all over again….

You used to wonder…why Jake was so eager to find love….why he was so eager to the point that he was gathering girls by the numbers that outreached the digits you collected yourself. With Vicky being number seven, Jake was sure to be on number fifteen…or maybe it was even higher. You lost count. Either way, it didn’t matter anymore….probably because you now understand what he was looking for….yet he still hadn’t seem to find it….not that you knew of…but you sure as Hell did….

‘Y/n…..’

“Heeseung, this is my girlfriend I told you about, H/N.”

You looked down at the tiny girl, remarking the look of fear she had plastered all over her face. It was something you were used to, and just like all the other times, you stood there, crossing your arms as you impatiently waited for the girl to greet you. Yet she remained hidden behind Jake’s body.

Turning your gaze from the girl over to Jake, you watched as your best friend nervously chuckled and turned to reassure the girl that you weren’t as scary as you had appeared to be.

How strange…for even Vicky and all of your other girlfriends in the past, had all developed a similar sense of fear when initially meeting you. All of them……except one…..y/n….

“Oh my God! Oh my God! I know who you are! You’re the pretty girl that everyone talks about, we have the same anthropology class and I never was able to say ‘hi’ because I was always too shy but-…….whoa……you’re even…..super pretty up close……like…..really….pretty….”

Watching as Jake’s girlfriend swoons and gawks over y/n….your y/n….. you rested your back against the counter as your crossed arms tightened into the fabric of your blazer. You shift your face to look at the floor as your cap covered every detail of your face, taking advantage, you released that smile that you refrained from displaying earlier. You saw a glimpse of it from the corner of your eye, how Y/n took notice of your mannerism, which had only made you smile even wider as you let out your deep chuckle, furthering the downward tilt of your chin so she couldn’t see much more than she had already witnessed…..

HER PERSPECTIVE – MGR, Chapter 8.

Ethan leaned back slightly to rest against the counter behind him, crossing his arms and tucking in his chin. Despite how the angle of his hat covered his entire face when he dipped it down, you saw a tiny glimpse in the showing of teeth as he gave out a small chuckle. He nodded his head, looking as if he felt Emily’s reaction was warranted, before bringing his head back upright, licking his lips and peering his gaze off to the side. You hear the girls calling to you, bidding you to come over to them. You excused yourself and gave a friendly so-long gesture to the boys as you walked over to the group.

Watching her migrating over to the group of girls, those of Vicky’s posse, you sighed out as you calmed yourself internally.

‘Soon…..soon pretty baby…’

Throughout the night, you zoned out and locked yourself up internally as you ran through every minute detail in your plans to get y/n. Yet the moment you caught the view of Gabe and his friend harassing her, you felt a rage of violent emotion take over like never before. It was no news to anyone of how protective you were with Vicky and your previous girlfriends, at least you were before finding out of their lewd behaviors behind your back. Still, no one could deny that you had a possessive streak, and depending on if they were worthy of it or not, it would come out. Yet when it came to y/n…. your beautiful girl….it was no question that the level of possessiveness you developed was that of fierce danger to anyone who made her feel or look uncomfortable.

There she stood, so pretty…so sensual…alluring…beautiful….sexy…just…everything you wanted and desired….and there he was with his hands touching her. You watched as she displayed hesitancy and backed away, trying to create distance without causing a scene, all because of Vicky’s connection with that idiot.

Y/n may be too gentle and concerned over her relationship with Vicky, and opting to do her best to avoid tension or add any strain between herself and your ex-girlfriend….but for you, you could give two fucks. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were still dating Vik, the moment you saw that boy put his filthy hands on y/n, who was clearly and obviously displaying discomfort, not at all wanting the physical contact, it was left without question.

Like clockwork, your body moved, and you found yourself strutting in a fierce manner, increasing speed, rage, intensity, and chaos as you felt the extension of your hand lunging forward in a snapping motion. The things you have learned from years of sports, dancing, anaerobic and aerobic exercise, you applied the teachings of your great mentor to utilize the same force that was merely gained for sportsmanship and dance, yet here you are using it against bone and flesh….and you loved every single second of it knowing that she was now safe.

But your joy fell apart quickly as you watched her, she was clearly overwhelmed by the harassment, and she took her leave.

‘Oh my poor baby….he really made you feel so uncomfortable….I promise that will never happen again…..I’m here….I’ll be here forever.’

She was fast in her departure, and you were hesitant in chasing after her as you were finding yourself reaching heightened levels of insanity for this girl throughout the night. After a few moments of basking in the house, with the lack of her presence, you found yourself moving again.

‘Fuck….did I go to far? Did I scare her? Or did she leave because of the discomfort of that idiot? What do I do? I need to be more careful if I’m going to make this all work…..do I start with my plans tonight? Will I have to be more forceful now? ’

You quickly exited the frat house, pulling out your keys as you looked around to see if you could catch sight of her. But a sense of sadness and emptiness hits you once you found that she was nowhere in sight.

Remaining stagnant, another twenty minutes or so went by before you started up your car and made your way back to your room, when the memorized image of Y/n’s face in discomfort flashed in your memory, and the need to console her was too pungent for you to ignore. So, you drove past your frat house, and made your way to the dorms, knowing full well she'd be there.

‘Fuck! I should have gone straight after her….’

Once you had parked your car, you were hesitant to move. Instead, you remained seated and continued to observe the lot, occasionally looking up to the upper end of the building, observing the window to her room. It remained dark, with no sign of life. You contemplated on whether she even came back to her room or not, but a feeling deep inside your brain told you that she was in there. Taking one last glance at her window, you took your keys and got out of the car.

Entering the dorm was the most depressing feeling you’ve felt in your life, as you walked over towards Vicky’s side of the room just to observe from afar, studying the side belonging to the one that you wanted to be with.

The light coming from her phone casted a cone of brightness that blocked the view of her face, you walked over and took in a hazy view of her, appearing to be asleep.

Initially, you picked up the phone to shut off the screen, when the face of it snagged your attention as the verbiage of an email outlined the end of the one thing she had solely been keeping alive. Even though you had a gut feeling based on his inactivity, it still was shocking that he was willing to let go of something otherworldly such as her…..and yet….you were happy….

‘This is…..’

Realizing that she was in pain that you could only imagine, the prospect of viewing her as someone who is free for your pursuance did not come into mind, not at all. Instead, you took a moment and looked down at her lying form as her phone remained in your hand.

The shape of her body was transcendental, the smooth and delicate curves from her hips, waistline, and her breasts contrasted from her surroundings. The crease of her cleavage cradled lightly by the natural rest of her arms as she lay on her side with a very faint curve of the fetal position. The length of her hair lay draped all around her enhanced her despair as you could assume by the placement, that she threw herself on the bed as she cried, evident by the wet streams that decorated her face. For the first time, you saw Y/n broken.

You read the contents of the email, not giving any second thought that it was a total invasion of her privacy, it didn’t matter. Now that she was in the state of abysmal pain, you intended to fix it, to fix her.

‘I…..she’s here….free for me to take now….that saves me a lot of trouble…..is fate on my side with this? Everything is just becoming too easy for me to get her…almost as if my thoughts are all being answered in my favor…..I don’t have to deal with Samuel…..i don’t have to do anything…..except just take her…..I can……take her….right now….’

Looking down at her, you kept her phone in your hand as you observed her form. You could tell she wanted to refrain from having all forms of communication, which was more than enough reason for her to lay with eyes shut, yet clearly not asleep.

Your eyes remained glued to her as the phone screen illuminates your face. With your sights remained gazing on her miraculous form, you shut off the phone and placed it back on the nightstand.

‘Let me fix you…. pretty thing….I’m here now…..we don’t have to go through the trouble of the initial plan…..all I have to worry about now….is fixing you….taking care of you….and loving you….so let me do it.’

And you did. It was something unreal but the most memorable event in your life.

It had seemed like it all had happened just yesterday...yet to your everlasting amazement, the events and occurrences that ultimately brought you to the state of happiness had happened nearly one full year ago.....one year since you met and fell in love with her....

It wasn’t up until recently, when you found out after looking through her phone that you saw the self-text she sent…..reflecting her love for you all along, since the moment she had met and bonded with you, before the events of the frat party.

‘We were truly meant to be together….she and I….’

Pondering and reflecting the flashbacks on memory lane, a ding from your phone interrupts the flow of your mind.

Checking on who texted you, you saw it was from Jake. He sent you a link to an article regarding the ‘Campus Killer’, it would so appear the authorities finally found him….dead beyond recognition.

“Breaking news! Serial rapist and murderer known as ‘Campus Killer’ remains found nearby central city.

Authorities were alerted of scattered remains, believed to be that of the serial killer that had preyed and murdered more than twenty female college students attending *your college name*. Police have stated that the body was horribly disfigured and mutilated and was scattered throughout various regions of the city. Authorities couldn’t immediately identify through plain sight on who the remains belonged to, yet it was thanks to dental records that they were able to clearly ascertain that the body parts belonged to that of the deceased, whose identity is none other than J. Dahmer, the man who had earned the notorious reputation of being the Campus Killer. Police are urging for everyone to remain alert and continue to remain inside the safety of their own homes as they exhaust all efforts into investigating into this matter and finding out just who, was responsible for the murder of the serial killer that plagued the city.”

……………

Another ding comes in, you smirked as you read Jake’s second message.

Reading Jake’s text, that same eerie smile made it’s re-appearance on your face. You felt it. For not only did you have y/n here, safe and sound, but you managed to get rid of that nuisance of a man that had crossed the line.

Could anyone blame you for taking her away? After the series of harmful events that took place against her…..what would have happened had you not been there each time? What if you hadn’t been there the night at the movie theater, when that man had his sights set on her…as his next target…his next victim. She didn’t even notice until you both took your seats in front of the wide screen, she was far too oblivious with her surroundings…too careless. It didn’t make you feel comfortable enough to just have her in emotionally and mentally, you needed to have her by your side…permanently.

Initially, you merely took notice of his presence, but the moment you recalled of the reporting’s concerning a drifting serial killer… one that had constantly dawned a brown, camping jacket and was constantly seen lingering around the surrounding area, preying on young female college students, you knew….you had a feeling the moment you helped y/n get out of the car and walked across the parking lot….that it was him who was studying her from the side of the massive parking lot.

There was no way…..

The moment you saw that man trailing behind, following and eyeing her as you both entered the theater, there was no possible way you could ever let that go. That man…how dare he? How dare he even think about hurting her?  How dare he look at y/n…..and thought of doing such terrible and unspeakable things to her body…..how dare he even wonder how she would look and sound like at the brink of ultimate fear….while he tortures her…..and mutilates her body like he did with all his previous victims ….HOW DARE HE?

‘….Him?.....He has the audacity to look at the one and only thing that is meaningful to me….the only thing that is worth all of the high Heaven’s, right down to the lowest parts of the Earth….he had the nerve….to look at her….and yearned to take her away from me?....I knew what he was thinking….I knew the images that was going through his mind when he saw her……and it’s bringing out the worst in me……he wanted to hurt her….make her scream….tear her flesh…cut her bones…..and take her last breath….all for the sake of his sick and twisted pleasure of seeing how she would react while he cuts her up and use whatever tools of torture to stain her blood with…..I refuse to let him…or anyone else get away with even just the thought of hurting her…. someone like him…with what he was planning on doing…does not deserve to live….or to dream of her…’

So, you made sure of it…. leaving not even a single bit of evidence behind…and paying off a multitude of authorities using a middle man, all of which would allow you to remain untraceable and to prevail while that man you murdered remains left behind; all leads falling to an unsolved case, which will be forever hidden and forgotten about. After all…..whose going to care about a dead serial killer?.....Despite the fact that it required the mind of a killer to eradicate another, as far as you and the world were concerned, you were a hero.

But not to her…..

Not knowing of the troubles that had surrounded her…..of what you did for her out of love, she only sees the flaws of your extreme nature…..your nature of wanting to keep her safe and forever well.

HER PERSPECTIVE -

Five months ago....

“W-what is it? Why are you…..Ethan?”

“Heheheheheh…..wrong name….y/n.”

‘……What?.....What does he mean?.......his face….he’s….he’s Ethan but…..but how?...Why?....I don’t……I don’t understand……what’s happening?....Why is he leaning in….why is he smiling at me like that if he’s not…..if he’s not Ethan….then….who is he?”

“….I ….I don’t understand…” you forced a soft smile…yet it reeked of fear and confusion as you gazed directly into his eyes with your glistening and saddened ones. “……W-what do you mean?......Ethan?.......if you’re not….but you look….you are him….your face… you are Ethan….aren’t you?” your voice piques with the utmost sincerity and hope as you desperately wished for him to nod and reassure you that he was Ethan, that maybe he was trying to play a harmless prank on you.

Yet, to your deepest fear, you watched as he displayed a closed mouth smirk and gently shook his head while his eyes displayed that usual sadistic glare…..his Ethan glare…

“….if you’re not Ethan….then…..who are you?....please tell me that….you are him…..you’re scaring me…. I feel like when you say that you’re not…why do I feel like I don’t know you?” you felt the tears beginning to build up in your eyes as you expressed hopeful mercy in the tone of your voice.

Leaning in, he kisses you deeply…..passionately…..it was both soft and rough…it was both Heeseung and Ethan….

With that insane eerie countenance you were so used to seeing…..that demeaning force in his aura, and that same look of malice and eerie display of affection that was none other than what you had known to be as Ethan, he softly speaks against your lips. His words caused your heart to skip a beat as the state of your nearly to full nude body remains plastered against his broad frame by his hold on you. With a tightened embrace, he smirks mischievously as he chuckles out….

“You know me……you do……don’t be scared….it’s me….it’s Heeeeeeeeeseuuuuuuung….pretty baby.”

................

"Y/n......."

"...That voice....Eden? Is that you? Whats going on? I'm so confused...and scared....what's happening? What is Ethan talking about?....He's Heeseung?.....what...then who is Ethan? Who was he all this time?"

"Y/n......"

"Yes?"

"..........run."

Authors note: weeeeellll..llol I promise yall it gets good...and better. lol. I'll see yall in chapter 21 ;)

Taglist: @deobitifull; @solstramaii; @vampiregirl215; @nshmrarki; @enhypen14; @iamliacamila; @lisaaannna; @nikstrange; @jaehaki; @luv-enhy-skz33; @silcry@honeysjae; @crackedcameraa; @stinkmonkey ; @baekxo07@raishaii@yangjungwon33 @lhspeachie ; @differentchildwombat ; @prettykia ; @kimsseonu ; @stvrryhee ; @en-thralled ; @hoonzdzbl ; @yuppppp ; @jinniespuppy ; @browsehnnie @prettykia @lprww @they2luv1naia @ellixqz@mimimovv @stvrryhee @moonmoongi @seungjiseyo @csmicvrse @yohanabanana @heeshees

[the-whispers-of-death]

One-Sided Love (Or Is It?)

Kali, who yearns to sleep side by side with Stone. There's a body-shaped dent in his mattress that can only be filled by Stone.

Stone, who turns his head to the side every time he's outside and looking at the stars. He craves to see Kali sitting beside him, star-gazing with him.

Kali, who finds himself jotting down songs from Bollywood movies. He knows the songs that Stone likes and tries to get the vinyl records of the albums he thinks Stone would love.

Stone, who uses his military computer to ship Kali books about wolves. He knows they're Kali's favorite animal and he know they'll bring a smile to his face.

Kali, who looks out at the night sky and smiles. He can see Stone basking in the moonlight, the way Stone's brown eyes sparkle would rival the stars.

Stone, who sighs wistfully whenever he's outside and it's a hot day. He can see Kali's body relax underneath the sun's rays, hear the way Kali laughs at everyone's complaints about the heat.

Kali, who remembers how his parents had loved Stone. He had brought the other man to his parents' ranch and Stone had fit into their little family so well.

Stone, who calls Kali his family when he knows the other man's not around. He listed Kali as his emergency contact, trusting him with his affairs when he's not around to make the decisions himself.

Kali and Stone, who take time out of their day to write a letter to each other. Kali struggles with not overwhelming Stone with his feelings and Stone, who is not a talker by any means, becomes a poet when writing to Kali.

"Ox, I almost strangled another captain because he thought he could insult my squad member. I thought about how you'd brush it off so easily while also ensuring his behavior stops. It's stressful here without you, but I hope you're doing well. You're in my thoughts always, I know you have had your share of pain. I wish to ease the ache in your heart."

"Mufasa, I stand underneath the sun and think of you. It's hot here, all the time, and I can't help but think you'd love it. Not a day passes by without me thinking about you. I hope you're doing well too, you've had your share of pain as well. Your shoulders are heavy with burden and I wish to take some of the load."

Stone, who rereads Kali's letters every night. He sits in his bed in his barracks and memorizes the words so he dreams of Kali.

Kali, who keeps Stone's letters tucked in his vest. He keeps them there, tucked right against his heart so Stone keep his heart beating.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)